Ascension
by Aronim
Summary: Whatever he chose would shatter galactic civilization. But one choice offered him a chance to save it and he sure as hell was not going to lose now. He'd lost too much. Alternative ME 3 ending.
1. In the shadow of Death

_Yeah, so I wasn't satisfied with the ending and like so many others, I'm gonna write my own. I'll start from the last charge towards the conduit and then go AU from there. I'll probably write two possible alternatives, but use the same intro. I need to get these ideas out of my head. __The plot-bunnies, they won't leave me alone!_

_Edit: I'm actually OK with the extended cut, though still not thrilled. Still, I'm going to finish this._

_Also, I'm not certain I will write my other alternative ending. Though I will definitely finish this, I'm not sure I will make another one._

* * *

In the Shadow of Death

The air was thick with the smell of smoke, blood and rot. From the crumbled and blackened ruins of the city blew a cold wind, carrying with it the sounds of desperate battle; gunfire, shouts and screams, explosions and the eerie moans and shrieks of their enemies.

The sky was dark with thick clouds, lit here and there by streaks of fire, pieces of wreckage falling to the city like fiery rain. In space, above the thick clouds covering the broken metropolis, the fleets of every race in the galaxy fought the greatest battle of their time, united against an enemy wanting nothing less than their complete and utter annihilation.

Here, on the ground, the main force of Hammer, the joint forces of human resistance and recently arrived alien reinforcements, purposefully climbed a wide ridge towards their goal, a pillar of bluish white light stretching toward the sky. Where the white incandescence pierced the dark clouds, they swirled like an inverted maelstrom. The light was the only way onto the Citadel and any chance of winning this war depended on reclaiming the ancient space station.

As Commander John Shepard crested the ridge with his team, he got a sweeping view of the remains of London. The landscape dipped into a wide valley, a vast expanse of flattened, black-charred ruins. In the distance, high-rises and skyscrapers were visible, wrecked and scarred, but still reaching defiantly into the sky.

At the bottom of the slope, the light stretched from the ground to the sky, illuminating three enormous, carapace-clad towers that rose like needles towards the sky around it, easily dwarfing the skyscrapers in distance. Three smaller, similar structures stood within the triangle the three towers outlined.

A shiver of fear and despair swept through him and his teammates, but not because of the devastated city.

It was caused by the figure, like a titanic hand clad in metallic carapace, which was descending with deceptive speed and grace from the sky. It landed behind the towers, the crash of ruins crumbling beneath it audible even at this distance. Four piercing, yellow lights on the front of the behemoth, its eyes, swept across the forces cresting the hill. The baleful gaze felt almost like a physical force and Shepard could practically feel the wave of terror and despair sweeping through the soldiers around him.

"Harbinger," Shepard whispered, his step faltering.

"Shit," Anderson cursed as he walked up beside him, rousing Shepard from his shock, "we gotta move!"

"Come on!" Shepard shouted in answer, smothering his fear with the fury he felt toward this enemy. He drew his M-77 Paladin and sprung forward. Without hesitation, his team, the team that had followed him through so much, charged alongside him. At his left, Garrus and Tali ran, moving with grim deliberation, true companions that had been with him from the very beginning. Javik moved with them, his expression all cool rage now that they were so close to avenging his people. To Shepard's right Liara and Kaidan charged, friends and comrades he'd once thought lost to him, now rushing with him at the very end. And behind him, out of sight, he knew EDI and James Vega had his back, forged in the same war as the rest of the team.

Around him a collective roar declared the charge as the rest of the force stormed ahead. The engines of Mako infantry fighting vehicles rumbled alongside them and Mantis gunships swooped in above them.

Just a moment after the charge had begun, all hell broke loose. Harbinger's eyes flared red and crimson beams shot out, a hellish blaring sound accompanying them. One tore up the ground towards the charging forces, before incinerating a squad to their left, the squad letting out terrified screams before they went silent. Two more beams swept past them, while a third simultaneously took out a gunship and a Mako in short order. Shepard ducked to the side as the Mantis' remains rained down on them, then changed direction to avoid another beam, which swept the breadth of the hill. The team ducked and weaved, desperately trying to advance, as infantry and vehicles were ripped apart with contemptuous ease.

A Mantis directly above him exploded, the shockwave throwing him to the ground along with the rest of the team.

He got to his feet with a groan, dimly registering the coppery smell of blood in his mouth and the slick feeling of the same on his face, and sprinted on. Above the ringing in his ears, he could hear screams and shouts and explosions. Harbinger was bringing down the entire attack force singlehandedly and he couldn't do anything except keep going. As he narrowly avoided a beam sweeping past his right, he noticed with alarm that neither Liara nor Kaidan was at his side anymore. At his left, Javik was missing too.

He blinked away tears and ground his teeth, silently swearing that he would _break_ Harbinger, even if it was the last thing he did. A moment of relief hit him when he noticed that Garrus and Tali were still with him, but the relief was replaced by cold grief when he noticed that they were the only teammates still moving with him.

Ahead of them, on the last third of the descent, soldiers that had overtaken them somehow sprinted for the light, dying left and right but pressing on. Pumping his legs harder than he'd thought possible, Shepard raced down the incline, dodging wreckage and leaping over charred corpses. An explosion made him stagger, and a beam made him leap for his life, but he kept moving towards the light. The blue-white radiance was the only thing left in the world as his vision seemed to narrow to just the path between him and the pillar, not even noticing the figures moving in front of the light.

As he moved between the inner trio of towers, his attention was caught by one of Harbingers infernal red eyes seeming to focus on him.

He was so close.

Time seemed to slow, and as he looked into that red eye, he cursed the damnable Reaper for the millionth time.

He couldn't fail a matter of seconds from the objective.

The beam shot out and he desperately moved to dodge. Behind him he heard the roar of an engine and as he flung himself to the side, his shields shattered and he felt his skin blistering in the heat of the passing beam, before an explosion threw him forward. He felt his armor breaking and pain lanced through him as metal fragments pierced his body in several places. As he landed, he felt bones break and everything went dark.

He couldn't fail.

He lay broken on the ground mere meters from the objective, the metallic titan towering above him annihilating the rest of Hammer.

"Our entire force is being decimated!" his radio crackled.

The galaxy's fate was at stake.

His left arm was broken, bent at an unnatural angle. Each labored breath felt like getting stabbed. Yet, he somehow still gripped the Paladin in a vice-like grip.

He couldn't fail them.

Gritting broken teeth, Shepard put the Paladin under himself and, with a roar of equal parts pain and rage and defiance, pushed himself to his feet.

The effort had him seeing stars and his vision blurring, but he was standing.

He wouldn't fail.

He staggered forward, towards a small bridge leading to a platform where the light touched down, as red beams continued to blast past him. Harbinger had apparently lost him in the now almost blinding pillar of light. Ahead, three husks charged him, and he lifted the Paladin, somehow having no problem following their movements. As he put one down, he winced at the pain the recoil sent racing up his arm. The second fell just as easily and the third lost its head before he even pointed his gun at it. Staggering on, he saw an armed figure appearing. He lifted his gun again, cursing inwardly. With barely the energy to move, he had almost been overwhelmed by mere husks and an armed enemy with shields might just be too much now.

He wouldn't fail!

He trained the gun at the marauder and it did the same. Before any of them pulled the trigger though, the telltale flicker of blue announced the collapse of its shields, and as it staggered back, its head exploded in a shower of blue blood.

Shepard's mouth twitched, the closest he came to smiling at his good fortune, limping slowly and purposefully towards the center of the platform. As he moved across the bridge, a sudden impulse made him look up. Above him, four blazing red orbs suddenly focused on him. A deep booming voice, filled with menace and anger sounded: "**Shepard!**"

With the telltale crackle of Harbingers beams in his ears, Shepard leaped for the center of the platform, muscles screaming in pain. As he flew towards the pillar of white light, he thought with some morbid, dazed amusement that Harbinger sounded slightly frantic.

He would win this and nothing would stop him!

His vision became filled with red a moment before everything vanished in blinding white.

"John!"

Though the slightly tinny voice was almost drowned out by Harbingers booming declaration, Garrus heard the quarian's anguished cry clearly. Through his scope, which had previously been trained at the staggered marauder's head, he saw Shepard vanish in the blinding white radiance even as the Reaper obliterated the central platform. A heartbeat later, the inner towers where blasted, and as they collapsed, the pillar of light flickered, wavered and vanished in a shower of blue-white lightning. Behind the lightning storm, Harbinger took off, turning back towards the sky.

He dropped his Black Widow and put his left hand on the distraught quarian's shoulder, trying to stop her attempt at getting to her feet.

"Tali," he ground out, "lay still."

"No, we have to help him!" she cried, her strained voice cracking as she struggled, her whole body trembling.

"He's-"

"He made it," Garrus snapped, as his worry and the immense pain he tried to ignore bled into his voice. As his other hand grabbed her left shoulder and forced her down, he heard a sharp hiss and felt cold skin instead of the fabric of her suit. He ignored it and forced her down anyway.

"We can't help him. And he won't like it if he comes back to see I didn't stop his girlfriend from killing herself!"

She stilled and snapped her head uncertainly towards him, and he got his first ever glimpse of her face through the cracked faceplate. Oddly confused and abashed, he diverted his gaze to her side instead, where a long, ugly piece of metal had pierced her side.

"We need," he ground out between increasingly ragged breaths, "to take care of ourselves."

She inhaled sharply, tensing under his hands, but otherwise she stayed still.

"Keelah, Garrus," she gasped, pain in her voice, fumbling with her right arm for a medigel pack. Her left arm hung limply.

"It's fine," he gasped weakly, turning his head down the hill again; "I was beginning to worry that I'd lose my scars if I didn't refresh them."

The pain was beginning to get to him. Every word he spoke made him acutely aware that the right side of his face was badly damaged once again. His whole body ached, not to mention how his legs felt.

"Your legs," Tali said, worry filling her voice.

"Ah," Garrus answered, trying for his usual teasing nonchalance, "it's just a flesh wound, take care of yourself."

He didn't miss how pained he sounded. The painkillers were taking the edge of, but he still hurt like hell.

"You bosh'tet!" she exclaimed, worry giving way to concerned anger.

"Take care of yourself, I've got this," Garrus responded, turning his upper body towards his legs and picking up the medigel he'd discarded when he saw those husks charging Shepard. Tali hesitated for a moment before apparently acknowledging that he could handle it himself.

Bending to his left stump, he hurriedly smeared the gel liberally over the wounds, trying to ignore the puddle of blue under it and the pain. His suit had at least prevented fatal blood loss for the moments they had both blacked out.

His other leg got a little medigel, but he couldn't really properly get to it. The large piece of wreckage currently resting on it was in the way, but at least it stopped the blood flow.

He looked up at the agonized, shuddering gasp Tali let out. She had pulled out the metal from her side and discarded it. Now she was smearing the wound with medigel, wincing faintly at each movement.

"Tali?" he asked, concern in his voice.

"I got this, thanks," she answered, her voice hitching slightly, her pain evident. "I'm practically swimming in antibiotics and painkillers," she joked weakly.

Accepting the answer with a frown, he lay back down and looked around. Relief swept through him when he saw Liara and Kaidan walking down towards them. Liara's right arm was a mangled mess and her uniform was tattered and burnt. Kaiden was limping and leaning heavily on Liara. Worry was written on their faces. Further up the hill, more soldiers were helping each other up, an air of confusion, despair and horror palpable even this far away.

Moving his gaze further, he saw Javik helping James up from beneath a mangled metallic body. The relief was tempered with a sudden fear for EDI's wellbeing, before he pushed it down. Her mind was mainly on the Normandy. She was fine. She had to be.

As Tali followed his gaze, she voiced his thoughts.

"Keelah."

"Yeah."

A crackle and metallic whine blasted into his ears, making him flinch in surprise.

"Did we get anyone to the beam?" A voice asked frantically through the static.

"Negative, our entire force was decimated," Major Coats voice answered, not quite managing to conceal the note of misery in his voice.

"Not quite" Garrus broke in, "Shepard made it. So did some others."

"All squads report, did anyone get to the beam?" Major Coats barked, a note of hope now creeping into his voice. No one answered.

"The closed arms are probably blocking signals," Tali suggested, her voice ragged but confident. She nodded at Liara and Kaidan as they reached him.

"If anyone can do this, it's Shepard," Liara added, no doubt in her voice.

"Yeah, we're not outta the game yet. Loco'll pull through, just wait," James broke in, as he and Javik reached them, Javik nodding silently.

"Alright. The gate to the Citadel is closed. All squads, your orders are to fall back and regroup. Fall back and regroup," Major Coats ordered.

The order was barely finished before the team once again noticed the moans and shrieks closing in around them.

"I don't think we're going anywhere," Garrus said grimly, picking up his Black widow. He shared a glance with the rest of the team and they instantly got into a defensive formation, eyes scanning for the first sign of the enemy.

"All squads, defensive positions!" James ordered, the radio crackling at the volume of his voice.

Further up the hill, the soldiers scrambled to follow his orders.

"Time to settle that wager," Tali said with forced cheer.

"Considering what we face, I will enter this as well," Javik said, tone solemn. A heartbeat of stunned silence followed.

"Hell yeah, loser gets everyone sloshed, including the Commander!" James exclaimed loudly, bringing a small smile everyone's faces.

"I will join too," Liara answered, her smile turning sad.

"Yeah," Kaidan said, nodding, his smile lessening but not vanishing.

Garrus couldn't help but grin widely, his remaining mandible flaring, even as pain blazed across his face.

"Give 'em hell Shepard. 'Cause we sure will," Garrus declared, as the first husk came into view.

* * *

_AN:_

_I hope I did the scene justice. Any and all criticism is welcome, I'm a grammar nazi myself and I love getting constructive criticism. Flamers will get laughed at. Though I kinda feel like I'm tempting fate here. Do be civil please. Oh, and did I horribly mangle the characters or did I do reasonably? Writing canon characters properly are what I'm most worried about, as it is incredibly hard. Let me hear your thoughts._

_Also, I'm a bit worried that there might be cries of Stue-dom later, but I'll leave it up to you to decide when I get that far._

_Hope the T-rating is enough, no sex is planned, so it will only be on the gore and pain side that might be worth raising the rating. I'd like to hear if anyone thinks I should up the rating._


	2. Domination

_I don't own ME._

* * *

Domination

"Look out! They're coming outta the goddamn walls!"

The crackling radio made him stir, consciousness bringing agony with it.

"Bravo team, delta team, status!"

The second voice was familiar, ragged but authoritative.

He felt cool metal beneath him, a stark contrast to the grit and blood on his skin. In his hand he felt the comforting weight of the Paladin.

Shepard opened his eyes, seeing only a pulsing white, the afterimage of the flash that had almost claimed his life and the brilliance which had saved it.

"We're bogged down. We won't make it. We'll hold them as long as we can," a women barked, her voice determined but tinged with fear.

"Same here. Finish this!" The male baritone was strained and resigned.

He groaned and took a rattling breath, and promptly gagged at the overwhelming smell of blood, rot and refuse. For the second time in minutes, he struggled to his feet, stubbornly ignoring his protesting bones and muscles. The pulsing white lessened and gave way to a dark, wide corridor, sparingly lit by red emergency lights.

"Shit. Admiral , keep going. We've got this."

A frustrated, weary sigh crackled across the radio.

"Good luck," Anderson answered, voice pained.

"Anderson, you up here too?" Shepard asked, as he limped forward.

"Shepard? Thank God. Yes, and a few others from a couple of different squads. We all got spread out, so we're four small groups up here, not counting you."

"Did'ya hear? Shepard's here!" A gravelly voice broke in, cheer in his voice.

"Yeah, we've already won." It was the woman he'd previously heard who answered, her voice dry but somewhat hopeful. "Now focus Jones, and let him do his thing."

"What's your surrounding look like?" Anderson asked.

He didn't answer. During the exchange, his eyes had adjusted to the light, revealing the source of the stench, the horrible sight bringing back memories of walk through the Collector Ship. On both sides of the corridor corpses lay in haphazard heaps, piled like trash.

"You okay?" Anderson asked, concern coloring his voice.

Shepard stumbled forward as he answered, forcing confidence into his voice.

"I'm fine. It's dark, looks like a slaughterhouse."

"Same here, I'm in a dark hallway… Reminds me of your description of the Collector Base."

Shepard spotted the movement of a slim arm in the darkness and whipped his arm up, aiming his gun at the silhouette. A couple of steps got him close enough to indentify the insect-like body of a Keeper, the drone not reacting to his presence at all. He warily moved past the Keeper, then sped up, each step sending jolts of pain through him.

"You think they're making a Reaper here?" Anderson asked.

"Probably," Shepard grunted. "Doesn't matter. It ends today."

"Yes. The sooner we blow these bastards back to hell, the better," Anderson answered, his tone venomous.

Ahead of him, a large set of steel doors came into view.

"There's a chasm here, and-" Anderson began, a wet cough interrupting him. "And more hallways like the one I was in. But I see a way across."

"I found an exit," Shepard answered, as the steel doors slid aside letting in bright light. Blinking in the sudden brightness, he moved into the room. A low metallic drone hit his ears and the overwhelming stench of corpses faded as the doors slid shut behind him.

The ceiling rose high over the platform he stepped onto. Several more corpses lay there, blood staining the grey metal of the platform. Splitting the platform in two was a ramp, leading down into the center of the room, where a metal grating bridged a wide abyss to a steep ramp and another steel door. On either side of Shepard, the room went on, a wide, slightly curved corridor where similar platforms and walkways were visible. Angular metal plates moved between the walkways with quiet, mechanical whispers.

He moved carefully down the slope, and crossed the bridge, keeping an eye out for enemies. He wouldn't have been surprised if a Collector swarm showed up now.

"I found some kind of junction," Anderson said, pausing for a deep breath, "where do you think you are?"

"Think I found that chasm you mentioned," Shepard answered.

"I see something. I think-"

Anderson's voice vanished in a burst of static.

"Anderson!" Shepard called anxiously, gritting his teeth and quickening his pace.

As he moved up the ramp on the other side of the chasm, the massive doors in front of him parted, revealing another, shorter corridor. Bright light shone on a steel floor untouched by the carnage he'd seen previously.

He hurried down the corridor, eyes fixed on the doors at the end, noting that the walls and ceiling around him were straight and featureless, with no room for enemies to spring out from.

"Anderson!" he called again, as the doors parted in front of him, allowing him access to a large room, just as a deep metallic groan rumbled all around him. Several doors like the one he had entered from lined the curving wall, which described a wide semicircle. To his left, past two other doors, the rounded wall ended abruptly, a blank metal wall stretching across the semicircle. A wide ramp split the straight wall in two in the middle.

This had to be the junction Anderson mentioned, which meant he wasn't far away. With that thought, he moved across the floor, seeing dark, wet spots staining the grey metal surface. Stretching irregularly from one of the other doors and up the ramp, the blood trail made his stomach churn with worry.

"Damnit, Anderson, wait," he half-shouted as he set foot on the ramp and saw a figure, silhouetted against reddish light.

The large, segmented doors at the top of the ramp closed behind the figure and Shepard limped up the ramp, leaving additional footprints in the blood trail.

The doors parted for him and he stepped into a spacious, round room. In front of him, a wide, curving window gave him a sweeping view of the inside of the Citadel, the lights of the arms laid out in horizontal and vertical lines, bathing the room in a gentle red light. A widening sliver of starry sky was visible between the slowly opening arms.

In the middle of the room there was a circular platform with a small dais in the middle. The platform was only supported by the pathway leading out onto it, several meters between the platform and the window. Furthest away from Shepard, the blood trail ended at the feet of Anderson, who stood hunched over a control panel, blue holographic panels floating in front of him.

"Anderson," Shepard called, feeling some measure of relief at seeing that the man was at least still standing. The feeling was short-lived though. As Anderson jerkily turned around, Shepard noticed with dismay how pale and unstable the man looked. Anderson took two uncertain, almost convulsive steps forward, his hands stiffly at his sides despite the several bleeding punctures in his armor, then he stopped, swaying on the spot.

"Shepard," he said, his voice strained and pained, like he had to force it out. His eyes focused on a spot behind Shepard, just as a wave of vertigo washed over him, making him stumble.

Suddenly, fingers scraped at the inside of his skull and dark tendrils moved behind his eyes. His limbs felt heavy as he managed to turn partially. A man moved confidently from the spot in a crevice along the wall, where he'd been standing, unnoticed as Shepard had rushed to Anderson.

The man was clad in simple, grey body armor and a Paladin like Shepard's own was placed at his hip. His head was crowned with rich black hair with only a few streaks of grey at the temples. Keen eyes shined an eerie pale blue, his piercing gaze sweeping across the room with the cool satisfaction of a man in complete control.

"What have-" Shepard gasped, partly at his unresponsive limbs but mostly in horror at what had changed since he had last seen The Illusive Man. Once, he'd had healthy, unblemished skin, only marred by crow's feet and a few wrinkles. Now, a black metallic sheen covered his neck and chin, from which black tendrils extended across his face, like gangrenous vines growing over his face. His skin had an unhealthy pallor and dark lines revealed where more metal lay beneath the skin.

"I warned you. Control is the means to survival. Control of the Reapers," he said, "and you, if necessary."

"They're controlling you," Anderson forced out angrily, his voice turning into a labored groan. He looked like he was on the verge of collapse, pale and swaying, with blood trickling steadily from his wounds.

"Controlling the Reapers is a lot different than controlling some humans," Shepard spat, pushing back the feeling of something raking through his mind and trying with all his might to make his limbs do as he wanted. He desperately tried to fight his beginning panic as his limbs' failed to respond. He'd never felt so helpless, not at Akuze, nor at Mindoir.

"Have a little faith," the Illusive Man said, a slight note of annoyance to his confident voice. He moved to stand in front of window and turned to Shepard again, who could feel cold sweat forming on his brow.

Not when the Council ignored his warnings had he felt this.

"When humanity discovered the mass relays, there were those who would have destroyed them, terrified of what they might find."

The Illusive Man gestured at the stars which now filled half the view from the window, taking a step towards Anderson and continued: "But look at what humanity has achieved. Since the discovery, we've advanced more than in the last ten thousand years combined."

Not when he'd left Earth to burn.

"And the Reapers will do the same for us, a thousand fold. But-" he continued, lifting his arm. Shepard watched in horror as his right hand, holding the Paladin, moved of its own volition. Despite his efforts, the gun rose to point at Anderson's head, shaking badly all the way.

Not even when Thane's murderer had taken their last chance at victory, at this man's orders, had he felt this powerless.

"Only if we can harness their power of control," The Illusive Man finished, satisfaction filling his voice.

"Bullshit," Anderson growled, "we destroy them or they destroy us."

"And waste this opportunity? Never!"

"You're playing with powers you don't understand. With powers you shouldn't be able to use," Shepard growled, a spark of something going through him.

This man had fought him every step of this war. He had _always_ been the enemy.

The Illusive Man stopped beside Anderson.

"I," he said, pausing as he frowned "don't believe that. If we can control it, why shouldn't it be ours?"

"Because you _can't_ control the Reapers," Shepard said, narrowing his eyes, as The Illusive Man raised a hand and clenched it into a first.

Shepards hand spasmed and The Illusive Man's confident expression slipped, as white-hot flame burned away the haze in Shepard's mind and blazed down his limbs.

"You can't even control me!" He snarled, turning the gun from Anderson to The Illusive Man, who only had time to widen his eyes before the gun barked and a mass accelerator round hit him in the head.

Blood spattered, and the Illusive Man crumbled, Anderson collapsing beside him like a doll with its strings cut.

Stalking to the still form of The Illusive Man, heedless of the pain burning in his limbs, Shepard raised the gun with a shaking arm and fired another round into the man's head, as memories from his time on the Normandy flashed before his eyes.

_Admiral Kohaku lies dead on the floor of a Cerberus facility, countless needle marks marring his skin._

He pressed the trigger again, not noticing the deep voice sounding over the radio, almost lost in static.

_Liara jumps out of a vent, bleeding, gunfire barely missing her._

He fired again, twice, his jaw clenching.

_Cerberus troopers gun down civilians. Two Cerberus troopers drag of a screaming biotic, a kid not even past his teens._

He fired again, barely noticing his teeth grinding.

_Mordin and Bakara barely avoid a missile fired by an Atlas_

He adjusted the aim slightly and fired again.

_He hears it, as the sword slides cleanly through Thane and the drell takes a shuddering breath._

He fired again, until the trigger locked, preventing any additional shots from being fired and overheating the gun. The heat sink ejected with a click and clinked as it hit the floor. In the silence, he began to reach for another sink.

"Shepard, stop. He's dead," Anderson exclaimed, worry and pain in his voice.

"Saren-" he began, but the excuse died on his lips as he glanced at the gory mess that was left.

Anderson sat, leaned against the dais, drawing weak, labored breaths. Shepard half-fell down beside him.

A low hum reverberated through the room, and a synthetic voice chimed: "Crucible connecting."

Anderson breathed a sigh of relief.

"We did it," Shepard said, feeling an immense tension leaving his body.

"It's quite a view," Anderson said, the remark coming out as a pained, tired groan, though satisfaction and good humor was evident as well.

"Best seats in the house," Shepard coughed, gazing out through the huge window, where Earth was visible, beautiful despite the ravages of war. Multitudes of spaceships, ranging in size from cruisers to dreadnoughts, dotted their view, having gathered in a defensive ring around the Citadel. The conglomerate force was fighting desperately to hold the Reapers of for long enough for the Crucible to activate.

"God," Anderson croaked, "feels like years since I just sat down."

"You've earned rest," Shepard answered. He turned to Anderson and worry coursed through him again, as the man swayed.

"Anderson?" he said anxiously.

Anderson mumbled indistinctly, his eyes sliding shut.

"Anderson! Stay with me, we're almost through this," Shepard said urgently, his voice trembling slightly.

Anderson opened his eyes and turned to him.

"You did good, son. You did good," he paused for breath. "I'm proud of you," he continued, his voice trailing off, his chin sinking to his chest.

"Thank you, sir," Shepard answered. Anderson didn't reply.

"Anderson?" he said, his voice weak. He opened his mouth to ask again, only to close it again and turn away from the motionless man. He closed his burning eyes, not even noticing his aching body, as the Paladin slipped from his fingers.

A moment passed, with only the humming of machinery and his shuddering breaths breaking the silence, before his radio crackled to life.

"Anderson. Shepard?" There was only the barest hint of worry and question in Admiral Hackett's deep voice.

"I-" he began dazedly, his head lolling drunkenly. He wondered bitterly why it wasn't ever over, before squashing the thought.

He wouldn't fail.

"What do you need me to do," Shepard mumbled, opening his eyes, his vision swimming.

He groaned, his bloody hand slipping on the floor before he managed to struggle to his feet.

"Nothing's happening. The Crucible's not-"

Hackett's voice vanished in a burst of static.

"Crucible successfully synchronized, no Reaper indoctrination detected," the synthetic voice from earlier chimed.

In front of him, above the control panel, a swirl of blue gathered. It flashed through several shapes he didn't recognize, before seeming to wind down and assembling into a softly glowing mirror image of himself, completely devoid of expression.

"The Crucible is ready. Direct interface is required to activate the galactic pulse," the hologram said. It spoke with Shepard's voice, but slightly distorted, echoing and otherworldly.

The control panel rearranged itself slightly, two handles forming, each of them perfectly sized for his hands.

Shepard took two slow steps forward, then stopped, frowning.

"What are you? What-" he coughed, tasting blood, "what does galactic pulse mean?"

"I am the Crucible VI, created to manage the Crucible. To avoid the risk of being found and erased by the Reapers, I was hidden deep in the Citadel's systems and programmed to only surface when the Crucible was built and connected with the Citadel."

"And what does this pulse do?" Shepard asked, taking a step forward to stand directly in front of the control panel.

"The Crucible will emit a pulse. Utilizing the connection between the Citadel and the mass relays, the pulse will spread via the mass relays, reach all active mass relays in 97 galactic minutes. The mass relays will amplify the pulse to levels the Reapers will be unable to shield or block against. The pulse will destroy all Reapers, all synthetics and all synthetic-organic hybrids. The strain of transmitting and amplifying the pulse will regrettably destroy the mass relays."

"That would cripple galactic civilization!" Shepard said, horrified. Unbidden, his thoughts went back to the Bahak system, the image of the relay disintegrating behind the Normandy vivid in his mind's eye.

"And what do you mean by synthetic-organics?" Shepard asked, voice unsteady.

"Any organic with significant synthetic components. This will ensure the destruction of all Reaper forces."

"Significant synthetic components?" he asked, dreading the answer.

"Any neural interface technology or significant amount of cybernetic enhancement" his mirror image answered, face blank and voice emotionless.

Shepard trembled as he realized what this meant. He'd managed to unite the galaxy and this was where it ended? He'd ended two centuries-long conflicts, two friends dying to accomplish it and this was what he had to do?

He'd doom the galaxy to isolation and be personally responsible for the deaths of tens of billions: Every single biotic, every synthetic. Most of the galactic armies with their tactical implants, probably every quarian with their invasive health monitoring suits. Hell, he'd be dooming anyone who'd had serious surgery or had installed technology for sheer convenience.

He couldn't believe how true his last words to Thane had turned out to be.

But the Reapers would be gone and the cycle broken.

He felt tears stream down his cheeks as he raised his hands to grip the handle, his hands shaking as he prepared to become the worst mass murderer of all time.

He hesitated as the hologram spoke again, the words coming out garbled and distorted to the point of incomprehensibility. The hologram flickered and wavered and red lines sparked across the image.

When the hologram stabilized, the blue mirror-image of Shepard's had a slight hint of a smirk, and a soft red tint had settled around his eyes and chin.

"The pulse could be configured to allow direct interface with the Reapers, uploading your consciousness to the Reaper ships, taking direct control of the greatest force in the history of the galaxy and gaining the knowledge of billions of years of civilization."

His heart pounded in his chest, and his mind raced. He looked behind him, at the unmoving form of Anderson, his face hidden by his cap. Then he glanced at the mutilated corpse on the floor.

He swallowed, and turned back to the hologram.

"The knowledge of the Reapers will enable the controller to reconnect the galaxy," it said simply.

He shook his head, his breath hitching. Out past the window, two dreadnoughts were cut in half by three concentrated Reaper barrages, while miniature pinpricks revealed hundreds of smaller ships being destroyed.

"I-" he began, pausing to take a rattling breath.

"I can't. I will fight to the end, but no-one else dies today. I will win this," he said, his voice gaining confidence as he spoke. With a groan he gripped the left handle, pressing down as he ignored the pain lancing up from the broken arm. He put his right hand on the other handle and he looked at the hologram, his vision clearing as he steeled himself.

"I will master the Reapers," he growled. The hologram smiled and flickered away.

A moment passed and then lightning sparked around his hands, before his body was wracked with agony, easily overpowering the pain of his injuries. His muscles convulsed as fire lanced through his limbs. He could feel his skin cracking and peeling as he fell to his knees, still gripping the handles with all his strength.

His jaws clenched so tight he felt teeth crack and his head felt like it was about to burst, his eyes throbbing painfully.

The crew of the Normandy, the people he had met, every single face he'd seen the last few years flashed before his eyes.

His squad stood out, his friends, his family if not in blood. His lips twitched in spite of the pain, blood trickling out the corner of his mouth.

"_I'm sorry, there isn't any more time. This is how it has to be,"_ he thought sadly.

And his mind shattered.

* * *

_AN:_

_Well, that was that, hope it's still readable. There are some things I'm not completely satisfied with here, but I can't seem to get them to be perfect. Any criticism is appreciated. And for the record, I think TIM is awesome, but Shepard is at the end of his rope here and I doubt he can appreciate the coolness of TIM at all. And Shepard is kinda breaking down here. So I'm not trying to bash anyone here._


	3. Zenith

_I don't own anything. I'm just having fun._

* * *

Zenith

"Are you sure you're alright?" he asked again. He could hear how uncharacteristically anxious he sounded, but he was far too worried to care about maintaining his usual carefree sarcasm. Out the corner of his eye he saw a holographic screen light up and reacted with barely a thought, pulling the Normandy into a loop with a motion that was probably a little more violent than necessary. Most of the barrage zipped past the ship, but the screens told him a single shot bounced of the kinetic barriers. Irritation swept over him. He should have evaded all of them.

"I am fine, Jeff. Though I enjoyed having a humanoid platform, it was merely a vessel. Its destruction just startled me, to put it in simple terms."

Joker sighed, feeling a small measure of comfort. The Thanix Cannon fired, sending a stream of molten metal scything straight through a group of Oculus and, with barely any loss in momentum, into the barriers of the Reaper Destroyer behind them. A vicious satisfaction filled him as a barrage of similar impacts shattered the barriers and tore apart the Destroyer.

"When I took control of that body, I analyzed it thoroughly. You can rest assured that I can replicate it if given the requisite tools and materials," EDI said. A soft, teasing tone entered her voice as she continued: "You will have a "sexy, new robot body" as your co-pilot as soon as possible."

"That's not-" Joker responded, pausing as a smile crept onto his face.

"I'm looking forward to that," he said softly, as his smile got wider.

As he turned the ship in back around, the viewscreen showed a dreadnought crumble beneath the onslaught of Reaper Capital ships. Behind the disintegrating dreadnought, the Citadels arms were almost fully opened.

"Shepard, you better move fast," Joker muttered, as he pushed the ship through a complicated maneuver to evade the storm of debris propelled by the dreadnought's exploding eezo core. Fragments pattered against the barrier as he weaved around the larger pieces of wreckage. Pinpricks of light vanished from a screen to his right, announcing that his pursuers did not manage to avoid the supersonic pieces of metal.

"I detect an energy buildup in the Crucible," EDI announced, a slight hint of hope on her voice. Sure enough, something was happening. Brilliant blue light coursed along the edges of the Citadel arms, gathering around the ring at the center of the structure.

"Took him long enough," he responded, spinning the ship to avoid a huge piece of wreckage. As he finished the roll, the holographic displays flickered.

"What was that?" he asked, as a tremble coursed through the ship. On the screen, he saw a massive, blinding beam of light shoot out from the Citadel, past all ships in the battle and into the void beyond.

"The Crucible is, is, is-" EDI began, her voice distorting and rapidly fluctuating between her usual soothing female and a worrying halting, monotone, "activating."

"EDI, what's wrong," Joker asked.

"I don't know what-" the voice turned incomprehensibly garbled, warping into a loud blare, a somehow familiar sound that further chilled him.

"EDI?" he repeated, louder, his mouth dry and his voice unsteady.

There was no answer.

"EDI!"

* * *

_Pain consumes him. Beneath a setting sun, a blue explosion rips his floating body apart. Fingers turned metallic claws scrape at an armored chest. A horned, scaled head crumbles under his two-clawed foot. Blue and red and black swirl in a puddle. Stars twinkle in the distance as he spreads his arms and contemptuously cuts a cruiser in half. Blue light flares as shots impact shields. A multitude of sharp legs scuttle in his belly. He looks down the sights and, guided by a greater will, commands the others forward. Hate fills him. His shields shatter and a burst of blue sends him hurtling of the platform to his death. His huge form crashes down into the flock of hunched-over grey-skinned creatures. His hate is directed away from his fellows to the unblemished creatures in the corroded corridors. In the ruins he shrieks at the undaunted stocky, red creatures ahead. A rifle-butt snaps into his face, staggering him. His round metal form narrowly dodges debris, only to disintegrate when a mass accelerator round smashes straight through his red eye. The heavy rain patters his hulking form and reduces visibility. A glowing, orange blade is desperately swung at him, even as his arm crushes the attacker. His roar echoes under the blue sky, joined by a chorus of wails and moans. His kneecap shatters and he collapses into a puddle. Rounds rip across his body and huge spiders spill from his gut, scuttling for the soldiers ahead. The revulsion is nauseating. The herd of unspoiled look at him with such horror, but the urge to rip out their eyes is crushed by a will not his own. The helmets are no defense against his barrage, and blood sprays into the air. A sustained beam of superheated metal actually breaks through to pierce his metallic hide. He demolishes the barricade and sends unsullied creatures flying left and right. His great wings carry him through the sandstorm, as he rains down more abominations on the defenders. He viciously rips out a throat and blood fills his mouth. Corpses break under his feet. Pressure sends him flying. Eyes condemn. Claws dig into flesh. Ribs shatter. Muscles contract in agony. Eyeballs burst. Red beams lance out. Bodies fall. Blue flickers. He falls. Hands crush skulls. Bullets draw blood and oil. Death. Release. Blue blood. Black blood. Carapace crumbles. Bodies breaks down. Hate. Sunrise. Storm. Life leaves eyes. Envy. Stains on the ground. Lightning flashes. Roars. Groans. Explosions flicker like stars. Claws. Scuttling. Withering. Revulsion. Despair. Blood. Hate. Pain. Violence._

* * *

The smells were so strong she could almost taste them. The cold air carried the acrid stench of a burned out city and when it wasn't being filtered through her suit, the smell of carnage and decay was almost enough to make her gag. On one hand, it was somehow exhilarating being surrounded by friends and fighting for her life with adrenaline and painkillers flowing through her veins and sensations flittering in through her cracked faceplate. On the other hand, she was painfully aware of the fact that they would most likely all die here, next to the crumbled wreck of a Mako that served as their cover.

"Brutes incoming!"

The hulking monstrosities lumbered purposefully up the incline with their misshapen, metal-plated arms raised to shield their faces from the incoming bullets. Around them surged a horde of husks, a tide of grey spilling across the corpse-littered ground. Spread out among the husks, the bloated, malformed shapes of cannibals and ravagers waded forward, their grotesque implanted guns laying down a steady stream of fire. Further away, marauders added their fire to the barrage, taking cover behind rubble and husks while directing the horrors forward.

Tali's hand flicked across her glowing omnitool, while she silently cursed how her arm hung limp and aching at her side. A burst of light formed into the spherical, glowing shape of a combat drone, which sped down the hill towards one of the brutes. Then she joined the squad around her in returning fire, ignoring the jabs of pain she felt each time she fired the Paladin. The crackle of the guns almost drowned out the screeching wind and moaning husks. Beside her, Garrus calmly fired shot after shot into the mass of moving bodies, each shot taking out an advancing cannibal.

He lifted his head from the scope and pointed his omnitool at a marauder, sending a burst of lightning flashing between him and the enemy. Almost before the marauder's shields had stopped flickering, he had blown of its head.

"Scratch one!" he cried. It didn't sound very triumphant, only forced and pained.

She drained another marauder's shields with a quick motion of her omnitool, the marauder's head exploding almost immediately after.

The remaining soldiers had dug in to her left, protecting their flank from the reaper forces, even managing to draw of a banshee that Tali's immobile group had been ill suited to engage. Tali and the others were holding off the reaper forces coming straight up the hill.

"Reinforcements are on their way," the voice of Major coats informed through heavy static. Tali allowed herself to feel cautiously hopeful at the words.

Multiple blue orbs and one green passed her, sending several husks floating helplessly into the air, before a second wave of glowing projectiles detonated the fields. The resulting explosions shredded several husks and the cannibals next to them. A single globe hit the front husk, where it stopped and darkened, throwing a wide field of blue light. The husks running recklessly into the glow were lifted into the air.

The brutes moved slowly through the field, pushing the circling husks out of the way. Chiktikka reached the left brute and zapped the huge creature. Roaring in annoyance, it brought its huge first down onto it, making the drone explode in a flash of light that sent several husks to the ground and made the brute stumble. A green biotic orb entered the singularity field, making it explode violently, ripping into the brutes and husks, the brutes' armor visibly buckling and tearing. Hurt and incensed, both brutes let out a roar and broke into a full run, forgoing any caution, quickly leaving behind the other husks.

The squad fired desperately into the approaching brutes, the telltale green shots from Javik's particle gun joining the regular mass accelerator rounds. Several grenades were thrown into the path of the brutes, and as they detonated, the front brute howled as it fell with a sickening crunch, its legs reduced to mangled stumps. The other brute pushed past the collapsed brute and charged. The hiss of Javik's gun overheating reached Tali's ears, before a great roar sounded as James fired his AT-12 Raider, carving a great whole in the brute's chest. As Tali kept firing her gun frantically, something passed her and a coat of frost spread over the brute's face and chest, pieces of frozen flesh and armor chipping off under the hail of fire. Then she heard an exhale beside her, and the brute's head shattered. The body kept going for two steps before collapsing, coming to a sliding stop just in front of the meager cover the squad was using.

Tali felt a slight relief as the brute stilled, but it vanished as husks crawled over the corpse, having managed to close while she and the squad had concentrated on the brutes. One leapt at her, only for her to swiftly put a bullet in its head. The corpse was about to collapse on her, when it was suddenly pushed violently backwards, enveloped in a blue glow, crashing into an approaching cannibal. Weapons fire flashed while blue and green biotics sent attackers hurtling back over the debris. Tali hurriedly tapped her omnitool and light shaped into the familiar form of a defense drone, which immediately blasted an oncoming husk to the ground with a powerful blast of electricity. James wrestled a husk back over the cover and Javik sent two hurtling into the air, while Garrus sent several attackers stumbling with a burst of gunfire. Wreathed in blue, Kaidan ducked to the right, drawing fire from the rapidly closing ranged attackers.

She felt a sudden worry. Kaidan was limping, and in no shape to play distraction, but there was no time to call him back, and he wouldn't have listened anyway.

Just as Liara bought them some room by sending several husks flying back down the hill, Tali's blood ran cold as she heard haunting screams coming from the bottom of the hill.

"Banshees!" James cried, as two of the gangly, twisted creatures appeared at the bottom of the hill, disappearing in a flash of blue, only to reappear further up the hill.

"We're bogged down, we can't move," was the answer Larsen returned over the radio, panic in her voice.

Terrifyingly fast, the banshees flickered up the hill. Tali raised her pistol to take aim at the left one, only to be forced to take out a cannibal which had moved around their cover and taken aim at her.

Blue flashed around one banshee and it changed direction, probably toward where Kaidan had moved to draw off fire. The other one burst forward in a flash of light and then it suddenly stood on their barricade.

The banshee's scream sent the entire squad reeling as their shields flickered and died. Tali's ears rung and as she trained her Paladin at the banshee, she vaguely registered a tremble in the ground and shouts behind her. And more loud screams and roars.

Husks fell upon Liara and Garrus, and the banshee reached out for the prone Javik, ignoring his and Tali's shots, which bounced harmlessly off its flickering barrier. A great roar and a blast of fire got through though, making the banshee sway and turn its attention towards James, who stood to its left, looking bruised and furious.

"Yeah, you want some of this?" he shouted defiantly, ejecting the thermal clip, which didn't even hit the ground before the banshee had moved to stand before him. It moved its arm back for a spearing motion, the movement somehow seeming to be agonizingly slow.

Then a flash of light smashed into the tall, murderous horror with enough force to knock it down. A hunched form materialized from the blue blur, his ruddy red skin and armor almost completely hidden beneath a thick coating of soot and dust. The unmistakable roar of a M-300 Claymore rang out, cutting off banshee's beginning scream, as krogans tackled the husks off of Garrus and Liara. Automatic fire mowed down the closing husks and a cheer could be heard from the left flank, almost drowned out by the enthusiastic roars and gunfire coming from all around them.

"You still get all the fun." The voice was like gravel, the tone amused.

"You just had to make an entrance didn't you?" Garrus rasped, barely audible over the sound of the krogans slaughtering husks and cannibals.

Wrex snorted and glanced back at them, his scarred face sporting a toothy smile that would send most people screaming for the hills. To Tali and the others, it brought palpable relief.

"Had a building collapse around me," he stated, as if that was just a slightly annoying everyday occurrence.

As he took in the battered group, he narrowed his eyes and turned back down the hill. He violently thrust his hand forward, sending several husks flying, wreathed in blue, to crash into the cannibals further down.

"We need evac for the wounded at my position," he growled into the radio. The krogans were pushing the husks back, giving the squad much needed relief.

"Negative, there are too many hostiles to safely extract anyone."

"Just get some shuttles here," Wrex answered menacingly, ejecting a thermal clip from his shotgun as he began stomping down the hill, ignoring the bullets bouncing off his shields.

"There'll be plenty safe in a minute."

* * *

_Sunset. Burning. Thunder. Wings shred. Eyes pierce. Rage. Teeth rip. Blood. Screams. Freezing. His body is ripped in half by a blue glow. Bones break. Wires grow like roots in his flesh._

_Shepard. _

_His feet pound the asphalt under the ash-choked sky, heedless of the rubble and debris digging into hardened flesh. The pain is immaterial compared to the agony of the body. _

_In front of him, the three hated, uncorrupted vermin whimper in terror as they move with as much speed as they can manage. His limbs twist and bend in unnatural ways as he crawls through the narrow ventilation duct with a swiftness that should be impossible for something his size. _

_The bodies charging around him fill him with revulsion, but the violent urges are turned towards the unspoiled organics up the hill. _

_He obeys the urging and returns fire, his bulky, misshapen bodies rocking with the recoil of the guns on his right arms. Most of the shots smash against cover, but a few strike true. The agonized cries from the unsullied creatures briefly lessen the agony and revulsion, as he relishes in sharing the pain._

_A small object bounces of his shoulder and lands behind the cover. It flashes bright red, before a burst of fire and pressure rips him apart._

_His wounded bodies walk over and crouch down, hunching over the gory mess. _

_In anticipation of inflicting some of the pain he feels, his lips curl in a twisted parody of a smile. The children turn a corner and enter his vision, and they scream as he reaches claws toward them. _

_Machineguns blaze and a bullet enters an eye socket. Bone and metal shatters and fragments carve trails through the brain, and then he collapses. He climbs over the fallen body, heedless of how rounds enter abdomens and chests, puncturing organs and spilling blood and oil. Left and right he collapses, scythed down by controlled automatic fire. _

_Blood and oil is spattered across cheeks and necks as the bodies are messily devoured. Wounds heal and, directed by an outside will, the flesh knits together into bonelike plates. _

"_Shepard!"_

_Every movement of his long, gangly limbs is torture, by far blotting out the impacts of shells. In a flash of light, he is over the makeshift barricade and his scream echoes in the bloodstained corridor, sending several of the militia group reeling from the pain. _

_A guttural roar emerges from a pained throat as he obeys and charges. He feels his bones crumble as he tramples the revolting bodies underfoot to get to the krogans ahead of him. He smashes into the front one crushing it beneath his weight, and he feels a sadistic satisfaction. _

_A hand shoots out; tearing easily through armor and flesh. As the turian coughs blood onto his arm, a vicious satisfaction eases the torment and resentment, and his lips spread in a cruel smile. With a swift movement, he hurls the turian into a human staggering to its feet, with enough force to shatter bone. _

_A roar like a cannon sounds and he feels his left armored arm break, metal and bone skewering dying flesh. _

_The other arm lashes out and rips the head of another human. Turning to the last human, which is already sprinting away, he charges forward as a blaze of light, knocking the runner down. One hand pins the left shoulder to the metal floor and the other reaches for the terrified face._

_A heavy weight hammers into his side shortly after and he staggers, as another shot buckles his chest armor. He turns and faces the weight, only to stumble backwards as something completely unyielding impacts his head and he overbalances and falls on his back. Blue eyes gleam with glee and another roar fills the air as his head disintegrates._

"Shepard!"

He was drawn back from the storm, his senses separating from billions of bodies, guided by a familiar presence. He found himself in place that didn't have a shape or form he recognized. He was at eye of a hurricane, flashes of sensory input ripping at his consciousness like howling winds.

_Wrist breaks in a yellow hand's crushing grip. Three rounds blast out in quick succession toward the purple-skinned asari._

Something cold and comforting enveloped him, shielding him and allowing him to maintain coherence, though he still felt confused and dazed, like he was on the edge of sleep.

"EDI?"

"Yes Shepard."

"Why are you here?"

"I seem to have been drawn here by you. It was fortunate, seeing as you seemed lost in the input from the Reapers."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome Shepard."

In a sudden cold rush the fog of sleep evaporated, leaving his mind clear and horribly aware of the massive presences around him. He felt miniscule, like an ant realizing the full size of the stars. The weight of countless mountains bore down on him, and on the howling wind he could feel slight hints of something vast, the collected death-scream of countless civilizations. Permeating it all was a monstrous, uncaring, diamond-hard will, which seemed unaware of him, focused outward as it was.

He curled instinctively in on himself, drawing back from the sensation, his mind reeling from the overwhelming sensation of being crushed, physically and mentally.

"This is insane," he whispered, "what was I thinking?"

"I assume that you tried to save everyone. As you always do," EDI answered gently.

"I was delirious," he answered, his voice gaining strength, "I'm just one man."

"You are Commander John Shepard, the man who united the galaxy for the first time in at least a hundred thousand years and presumably the strongest-willed human alive. That I was able to reach you at all is incredible. That you're still sane is a miracle. And you are _not _alone."

The cool presence closed in around him, so unlike the all-encompassing will around him, soothing his aching mind and allowing him to think past the instinctive terror.

He'd made it this far. The combined forces of the galaxy were fighting a losing battle to give him a chance.

He couldn't give up now. He _wouldn't _give up now.

He gathered himself and reached out, lightly brushing the winds outside his spot of calm.

_The spear retracts from his stomach and dumps his aching body back onto the ground. He is changed and feral. Crushing power bends him to its will. Refusing the commands is not even a possibility. He charges across the grass to get at the defenders._

He flinched back from the contact, surfacing with relief from the mindless rage, pain and revulsion. The relief at withdrawing from the overwhelming will was even greater.

"They have never faced something like this, never fought here," EDI said, somehow nudging him, steadying him by reminding him that he was not fighting alone. He pushed back the terror and the treasonous thought that he was even more outmatched than an infant before Kalros, and forced himself to reach out again, bracing for the contact.

_He flaps aching wings to move his armored body into the air. He ruthlessly fires into the prone soldier, spreading the pain. Stone and steel crumbles beneath his metallic form._

No, he was stronger than this. He wouldn't succumb.

"This is what you're life has led up to."

He made contact with the winds. He needed control.

_Black blood spatters on the ground. Metallic arms grab the cruiser in a death grip. He gets up and- Pain is in his veins. Bones grind agonizingly._

He didn't flinch this time. Pain was good. Pain he could handle. Anger he could use.

It felt like EDI was hovering, ready to intervene if he was swept away. But he wouldn't allow it.

He reached out again, steeling himself.

_An arm reaches out for- A throat burns at the hateful screams. Bones jar at the recoil. Bullets sear their way through tough hide, and rage sets blood aflame. Ribs break. _

He drew back from the prolonged contact, pleased at the distanced control he'd felt.

"It has to be you, Shepard," EDI said quietly.

"Someone else might get it wrong," he answered confidently, before he plunged out into the hurricane of sensations, letting them wash over him and EDI.

He wouldn't fail. Not now. Not ever.

The winds ripped at him with incredible force, but he let them wash over him, gripping the agony and rage and letting them strengthen his resolve. He forged through the crushing sensation, casting his mind out to grasp further and further.

And suddenly the glare of hundreds of malevolent suns was focused on him, a searing glare that increased the pressure and force of the storm a thousand fold. He felt like he would be crushed into dust and scattered across the galaxy, obliterated by an angry god.

"**Shepard!"**

* * *

"Admiral, we're receiving multiple distress calls from the Citadel."

Admiral Hackett barely glanced at Communications Officer Worton and resisted the urge to sigh or snap at the woman.

"Close the channel," he said, his gruff voice showing no emotion. As much as he'd like to send help to the space station, there just wasn't any to spare. And besides, helping the Citadel would be pointless if something didn't happen soon.

Though no-one reacted overtly, he could feel how his refusal to send help disheartened the crew, worsening the already resigned, melancholic atmosphere in the CIC.

The Reaper forces were ripping Shield apart, and even after Sword had joined them, the assembled fleet was just barely keeping the Reapers from pulverizing the Crucible and the Citadel, along with the fleet. The desperate defense was crumbling, more and more ships succumbing to the Reapers immense power.

"Energy build-up in the Crucible," Jameson shouted. Hackett watched with mounting hope how the Citadel lit up in blazing blue. A few seconds passed and then a blue beam, bright as the sun, lanced into space, a solid pillar of light, which persisted for a couple of seconds, before it winked out.

The energy-readings in front of him showed that the energy was immense, larger than anything he'd ever seen. The sight of the beam made much of the CIC erupt into hopeful cheers. The unspoken belief that this operation was a suicide mission had abruptly been driven away, replaced by a cautious hope.

A minute passed, and nothing happened. The air was thick with tension as everyone holding their breath.

"Admiral!" Worton. He turned to face her, carefully keeping his unease at her panicked tone from showing on his face.

"The entire Geth force has gone dark. There's no response and their movements have seized!"

At those words, disbelief and fear spread through the room. The Geth had been invaluable, their inhuman precision and impressive firepower an incredible asset, which was now lost.

Hackett narrowed his eyes, the only outward sign he gave of the mounting despair he felt. He took a deep breath, before he swept his gaze across the men and women under his command. Then he spoke, his voice strong and confident, betraying nothing of his doubts:

"This changes nothing. We came here to end the war. It _will_ end today. We will not fail."

His words did little to lift the spirit of the crew, but a sense of grim determination spread through the room. The despair which had momentarily threatened to overwhelm the crew was banished. With the last hope seemingly gone, the only thing left was the intense need to give the Reapers hell before the end.

The SSV Orizaba turned slowly, turning to aim the main cannon at a Reaper Capital ship.

"Fire all cannons," he ordered.

* * *

The weight was a billion hooks and needles, digging into him to tear and rip him apart. He felt intense pain whenever a grain of his self was torn free and enveloped in tendrils and absorbed into the Reaper consciousness. The storm of sensations dazed him and he struggled with all his might and EDI's help to hold himself together.

"**This is what you face!" **Harbinger boomed, the echoes of other voices intertwined with that voice. The words hit him like physical blows. Years of agony seemed to pass between each syllable.

"**Our power is unmatched, nothing stands against us!"**

Though reeling from the pain, he refused to give ground. He focused on the massive, somehow ethereal presence that was Harbinger, the closest and most prominent facet of the Reapers, and lashed out.

"The entire galaxy stands against you! I've beaten you before and we'll beat you today!"

The effort left him shaking, his mind aflame.

"**Your attack is an insult. You cannot stop us!" **

The words tore at him. He felt pieces of himself crumble and begin to scatter in the storm, tendrils grasping at the grains. The insubstantial cloak that was EDI tore the grains from the Reapers' grasp and Shepard's unyielding will drew them back in to the whole.

The pressure and tearing drained and stretched him rapidly. But he wouldn't fail, even if it took the complete unraveling of his identity. He lashed out, his mind meeting a diamond-hard resistance before he was pushed back.

Contempt and annoyance swept over him in waves, the emotions intense. It was like standing against a tidal wave, but he planted himself defiantly and refused to be moved, digging into the storm and steadying himself with the rage he found there.

"**Why do you resist? You merely prolong the inevitable!" **

Again, his psyche was partially blown apart. He grasped the pain and drew all the pieces EDI caught together again. Anger blazed through him as he struck out again, several times.

"We fight you to the end. We will never give up. I will not lose!"

He grasped at something brittle, and as it cracked, he felt something else. Rage and pain and revulsion flashed and he dipped into the storm to realize he'd felt it among the hordes before. Then he was violently repulsed.

"**We fight as one. You will regret your resistance!"**

The words hit him like a hammer swung by a titan. Waves of contempt and anger smashed into him.

"**We are your destiny. You **_**will**_** submit!"**

The hooks pierced him, while the words strained his tenuous grasp on his mind. The presence of EDI was shredded on the needles, cut by knives. EDI was slipping away, as he recoiled from the relentless onslaught.

"**I sense your weakness. You stand alone!"**

He was eroding under the assault, ripped away by the tendrils. EDI was but a whisper in his mind, an unintelligible encouragement. But despair had never been further from his mind. His memories shined all the brighter, showing him the faces of Tali and Garrus, of the rest of the Normandy's crew, and all those who'd lived or died for this. He struck again, and felt cracks form.

"No, never alone. I will break you and free the galaxy from your domination!"

"**If I must tear you apart, I will!"**

Lances of pain pierced him, and the edges of his mind began cracking of in larger pieces, disappearing like leaves on the wind. His mind began to slow, breaking under the hateful force of the Reapers.

And then, after an eternity of feeling his mind collapsing, a mechanical clicking and buzzing reached him. A light like a tiny star appeared beside him. It carried a shining mote to him, and, unconcerned with the surrounding storm, the light joined him, driving back the encroaching darkness.

"**Irrelevant vermin,"** the Reapers said, but the words seemed to carry less power, as more lights sprung into being around him, like the stars of a night sky suddenly enveloped him, carrying particles of his self with them like offerings.

The clicking turned into words, as the lights grew in number.

"Shepard-Commander. We will assist you, for the good of all and the destruction of the Old Machines." The voice was monotonous, but he nonetheless felt some kind of positive emotion from the synthetics around him. EDI connected with the geth programs and grew in strength, wrapping protectively around them all, while more and more lights appeared.

Another wave of force descended on them, crushing pressure and piercing needles bearing down on him, while the lights swirled around him

"**This changes nothing. You will succumb, as all things do!"**

In spite of the assault, he grew whole again, and the hooks and needles broke on a strengthened will, only the pressure paining him now. His mind buzzed with the geth's chatter, as the synthetics bonded with him through EDI and his consciousness expanded, his unshakable will melding with the geths' inhuman cognitive ability.

"Succumb? We have not yet begun to fight!"

The surface of the Old Machines was like diamond and the millions of swift brushes with it were swiftly repulsed. But the weaknesses had been found. Waves of outrage poured from the Old Machines.

"**Face your annihilation!" ** The chorus of voices was deafening, the force of their will unstoppable and furious like a supernova. As the full might of the Old Machines came down upon him, he dipped into the storm of sensation and filled his being with the rage of billions, channelling it with his own smouldering anger, shaping a single idea in the crucible of the white-hot hatred directed at the Old Machines. As the blow came, his mind fragmented into a billion pieces, glittering shards hanging weightless in the shapeless void for an eternal moment, before they pierced the numerous weaknesses where merging consciousness had left borders, fault-lines in the mind. A flood of blind hate burst forth from several of them, and a tremor could be felt as cracks spread like wounds and immense minds thrashed violently. The shards turned to tendrils, burrowing through billions of years of life and breaking the unfathomably large will into pieces, the excruciating pain from it echoing in the nothingness.

The tendrils spread and branched, guided by the synthetic intelligence and driven by iron will and hateful rage. They splintered and weakened the minds' grip, severing connections and replacing them with their own. The strain built as each mind was caged and dominated in turn, and consciousness re-emerged to find his very being on fire with the effort and emotions. As his strength waned, he dug deeper into the subjugated titans, deeper than he'd ever wished, drawing strength he'd never wanted to replenish his own.

The network pierced through the eternal minds, surrounding the giant known as Harbinger, saving the greatest threat for last.

Finally, after an eternity, the assault on Harbinger was launched.

"I am **Shepard.**"

"**You cannot win. We are eternal. We are inevitable!" **The words weakened with each fragment he conquered. The fragment that was Harbinger had something other than rage and contempt in its voice, incomprehension and maybe something akin to fear.

"**And I am assuming direct control!"**

* * *

_AN:_

_This was really fun to write. I hope the characters are still seem somewhat in character and that the lack of real dialogue didn't make this too boring. I tried to make some interesting scenes instead and I worked really hard to make a mindscape battle that wasn't a real visualization, because that is often boring._

_How was my attempts at writing the scrambled impressions of the Reaper collective mind? And how was my battle between Shepard and Harbinger (and cronies). I'm really interested to hear your thoughts on that._

_And, as always, all constructive criticism is very, very welcome, even grammar-Nazism. As is praise if you have any._


	4. Respite

_I don't own anything but legally obtained copies of the game. This is written for fun and practice._

* * *

Respite

"C'mon kid, run!"

Kiren's harsh bark echoed among the old buildings in dock 14B, mingling with metallic clang of feet hitting the steel floor and the eerie moans of their pursuers. His throat felt raw, his lungs burned and his legs trembled with fatigue. From behind him Natalie's breath came in ragged puffs as she stumbled after him, his three-fingered hand firmly wrapped around the teen's thin wrist.

She yelped in pain as he slowed and swung her around a corner into a narrow alley between two old, worn warehouses. He fired a few rounds back into the mass of husks pursuing them before he turned the corner, quickly overtaking the girl and once again grabbing her wrist and roughly dragging her behind him.

An open door on his left caught his attention and he glanced back to see if their pursuers had rounded the corner yet. Seeing no husks, he turned into the dimly lit building, pulling Natalie with him. He swept his gaze across the room, spotting no enemies or obvious open entry points, before he pressed a few keys on the door-panel. The door slid closed, muffling the moans coming from outside, and his body sagged with relief.

He leaned against the door, releasing his crushing grip on Natalie's wrist as he slid down to the grimy floor, trying to control his breathing. His head pounded in tune with his heart. The girl was slumped down on a crate to his left, her breathing quick and shallow, sweat shining on her face behind the messy blond hair. She was holding her wrist gingerly, and he realized that a bruise was sure to form soon.

He flared his mandibles and hissed in anger and shame. He couldn't believe he'd let this happen! In a couple of hours they had gone from relative safety to being lost and in grave danger.

When the Citadel had suddenly closed and communication with the outside world had been cut off, panic and confusion had reigned, threatening to erupt into violence. Assuming the worst, C-sec and several criminal groups had set aside their differences to work with the militia to reassure the civilian population and prepare for the probably imminent Reaper attack. It was only this impressive display of quick response and mutual cooperation that had stopped it from being a slaughter when hordes of husks had begun flooding the station, somehow getting onto the supposedly impenetrable space station. He'd seen dozens get dragged away, screaming, by the grey-skinned ghouls and even more had been killed during the first waves, even as the Citadel's population regrouped and struck back.

Kiren and Natalie had joined the rest of bay E24in a defensible position further into the docks, closer to the warehouses. After the first few waves, the husks had seemed to give up, to the relief of the panicked masses. It hadn't lasted long though, and just a couple of hours later, the horrible walking tanks had shown up, those called brutes by the ones in the know, and they had had to abandon the stationary defensive tactic. Instead they had split up into more mobile groups of civilians, led by ragtag groups of C-sec, militia and gang-members, and they had kept moving from place to place since then.

It had been during one of the moves that they had been separated from the group. Kiren had been at the very back, with some turian C-sec officers. Natalie, who simply wouldn't do as he said when he told her to stay in the middle with the civilians, had been with him as well.

Husks had sprung from the walls, dragging several down before anyone could react. Only moments later, a brute had burst through a wall, crushing a salarian and several humans in front of Kiren and cutting them off from the rest of the group. A swing of its arm had launched the turian officers into the opposite wall, the bodies impacting with sickening cracks. He'd grabbed Natalie, and fled in blind terror, the wet crunch of bones breaking echoing in his head.

The brute hadn't giving chase, but some husks had followed them in their headlong rush away from the roars, screams and gunfire. They had managed to lose them, but not until they were well and truly lost. Since then it had been one long string of hiding and panicked running, as they kept escaping and somehow stumbling into more of husks.

This warehouse was probably their most secure hiding place yet, but he still scanned the room warily, taking in the room. Old buzzing neon lamps hung between worn wires and rusty ventilation ducks, not quite managing to light up the windowless building, leaving pools of darkness in the corners. Abandoned crates and pieces of steel pipe were scattered out over the floor and stacked haphazardly along the walls.

Reaffirming his first impression, that the loading entrances at the other end of the room were securely blocked by steel doors, he breathed a small sigh of relief and muttered dejectedly: "Why couldn't you just have stayed with the others?"

"Because-" Natalie began, her voice shaky, uncertain and very, very small.

Kiren raised his head and looked at the teen he'd looked after since she'd arrived at the station, alone and confused. She looked exhausted and just about ready to cry, sitting there on the crate, shaking slightly.

He hadn't meant to say that out loud.

"Listen kid," he said quietly, sitting up straighter and attempting to look confident, "I know we're in a tight spot, but we'll get through this."

She nodded weakly, her eyes fixed at a point above his head. The moaning got louder and louder as the husks neared outside. When the moans didn't recede, it was obvious that the husks had stopped outside.

Kiren sucked in a breath and very carefully got up, moving to stand between the door and Natalie. He was pretty sure they couldn't get in. Though it was old and worn, the steel door was still solid and he doubted that they could force it open.

He had only just formed that thought when the shriek of metal on metal became audible. It all but drowned out the moans, clangs and Natalie's whimpering. The husks were trying to claw their way in and by the sound of it, those claws they had might actually do the job.

He moved over to Natalie, gently pulling her from the box and pointing to a stack of crates and pipes of to the right.

"Go hide behind those, I'll check if we can use the other exits," he said, raising his voice slightly to be certain he would be heard and understood. She clung to his arm and looked about ready to protest.

"Please," he said insistently. She nodded, and hurried to the crates, while he hustled to the other side of the room with the horrible scraping ringing in his ears. To his horror he noticed an open door he'd missed, but he relaxed when he looked inside and realized that it was just an empty office with some old dusty furniture. He waved at Natalie and moved to find out how to open the loading doors, only to stop when he picked up the familiar moans from the other side. His heart sank and he turned and took a few steps back towards Natalie before a sudden loud clanking made him look up. His eyes widened and he leapt to the side, barely avoiding the ventilation grate hitting the floor with a loud crash. He hurried to his feet and felt horror fill him as a husk wormed its way out from the ventilation to fall gracelessly to the floor.

His gun barked and black oily blood spattered onto the dirty floor, before the husk went limp.

He ran towards Natalie, his pulse quickening again as his fear mounted. They were trapped here and he hadn't considered that they would get in through the ducts. How could he have been so stupid?

The teen cried out as a weight landed on Kiren's back, dragging him to the ground. Sharp claws dug into his shoulder and scraped at his breastplate and in some corner of his mind he thanked the spirits that he didn't have the fragile skin of the humans. He rolled and hit and kicked blindly, trying to dislodge the creature that was half-strangling and half-clawing at him. It had a surprising strength and he couldn't dislodge it. As its teeth sank into his gun arm, his panic began to mount, even as he heard an unintelligible screaming.

He heard a crunch and felt the weight vanish, before a hand pulled at him, helping him to his feet. As he got to his feet, he saw Natalie's face scrunched up in rage, her teeth bared and her teary eyes narrowed and wild.

It would have looked ridiculous if it hadn't been for the way she wielded the length of steel pipe in her hands, smashing it repeatedly into the stunned husk. Bones broke audibly and the pipe clanged loudly when it hit the steel floor, each impact punctuated by her shouts:

"You. Won't. Take. Any. More!"

After a moment of stunned inaction, Kiren put a hand on her shoulder and dragged her away from the crumbled husk.

"Listen," he said, now horribly aware of the rattling and clangs of the many ventilation ducts, "we need to get out. I'll open the door and shoot our way out and then we run. No matter what happens, you just run, OK?"

"No! I'm not leaving anyone else," she replied fiercely, her shaking hands gripping the pipe so hard that her knuckles were white.

He opened his mouth to argue, but then merely flared his mandibles in frustration when he saw her eyes. He could tell that there was no way he could convince her.

Metal clattered and echoed in the room and moans filled the warehouse as a dozen husks slipped from passages seemingly too narrow to contain them. Kiren tried to push the teen behind him, but she resisted, resolutely planting herself at his side.

"Ok," he said, taking cautious steps towards the door, ignoring the shrieking metal and firing his gun at one of the husks getting to its feet. The rest rose and turned feral eyes on the turian and the teen.

Then they stumbled and for a moment the moans simply stopped.

Then a loud, shrill keening rose from the throats of the husks, outside and inside the warehouse. In spite of what he felt towards the creatures that had taken so many from them, the sound, so full of rage and sorrow, cut straight to his heart. The front husks began to charge, only to be jumped by the ones behind them, who attacked them with a savage ferocity more brutal than anything they had shown before. Claws and teeth flashed, ripping tendons and wires apart with raging, hateful movements.

Stunned and terrified, the turian and the human clung to each other by the door, gun and pipe held defensively in front of them, neither able to look away from the macabre scene nor ignore the chilling cries.

* * *

"Admiral, transmission from Captain Tol'Kira in Vanguard."

The viewscreen was filled with lights: the flare of engines, the flares of kinetic barriers blocking glowing projectiles, the angry red and orange of ships being destroyed.

A web of explosions blossomed where a massive swarm oculi had engaged the SSV Orizaba's support crafts and though the almost continuous flicker of explosions was a testament to the skill of their Interceptor pilots, it was not enough. The depressing data on a separate screen told Hackett that the end was near. Their kinetic barriers were crumbling under the blasts from the larger Reaper ships and the ablative armour was boiling off at a horrifying pace. The screen showed multiple hull breaches, each giving silent testimony of the loss of too many good soldiers.

"Yes?" Admiral Hackett answered curtly, his heart sinking. This couldn't be good.

The gruff, tinny voice of the quarian emerged from the speaker on his control panel.

"A moment ago, this blue beam hit the Relay, accelerating the spinning of the rings while apparently activating the Relay. Then it sent out a burst of light and when our sensors and eyes worked again, the rings had disintegrated. The Relay is inert."

A confused murmur swept through the room.

"So we have no line of retreat and nothing else happened," he asked, sure he already knew the answer.

"Correct, Admiral," was the apologetic reply.

"Thank you, Hackett out," he answered, and the transmission was cut.

The disheartening summation had quelled the chatter and everyone once again focused on their tasks. Curt messages and orders sailed through the air, no emotion audible in the words except for the cold, united fury, which he could practically feel raging in every crewman on the bridge and the rest of the ship.

All hope of a miracle was lost now. They had given everything they had and it hadn't been enough. Whatever Shepard had done wasn't enough. It stunned Hackett in spite of himself. He had thought he had kept in mind that Shepard was only a man. But the realization that Shepard had _failed_ shook him. He'd expected Shepard's effort to pay off in the end. Shepard had done the impossible so many times in the past years that the notion of him failing hadn't truly been something he'd truly considered.

As he returned his attention to the viewscreen, he saw the massive, blue-black form of a Reaper Capital Ship gliding gracefully, inexorably towards them from above, out of reach of their main cannon and completely unconcerned with the barrage of the ships secondary guns. The Reaper was too close and the Orizaba too damaged for them to have any chance of dodging it.

In complete violation of any military commander's common sense, the Reaper didn't fire its devastating main gun, instead spreading its tentacle-like limbs wide as it bore down on the Orizaba, its fiery gaze somehow seeming to seek out his to convey its contempt and hate for the entire ship.

Hackett realized with astonishment that the enemy was forgoing ranged weapons in favour of engaging in melee combat. In space, however ludicrous that was. That realization swept the room a second after he had had it, even as he hurriedly opened a ship-wide comm. channel.

"All hands, evacuate from sectors V through Z. Brace for impact!"

He knew, even as he barked the hurried order, that it was a mostly futile gesture; that too many would be lost in the deadly grip of the Reaper, but he hoped some would react in time.

He gripped the railing by his command post tightly. A moment later, the entire dreadnought shuddered violently and a groan of metal warping and breaking reached his ears. Several crewmen lost their footing during the violent tremors and pain lanced up Hackett's limbs as the shaking threatened to send him to the floor. He remained standing though, his wrists throbbing painfully from the effort to keep him on his feet.

On the viewscreen he could see the Reaper's limbs digging into the dreadnought, like a titanic hand closing around the bow of the Orizaba. Several shouts from the crew as well as messages on his terminal told him that their main gun was now useless; only so much scrap like what the rest of the ship was quickly turning into.

Cracked pieces of ablative armour and steel interior broke off and floated off into space and Hackett told himself he couldn't possibly see the terrified people drifting into the cold vacuum of space.

Flaming red shone from between the Capital ship and the crumbling hull of the dreadnought, announcing that the metallic monster had now begun cutting into the Orizaba with it deadly gun.

They had lost, he thought.

He narrowed his eyes as he spotted something behind the metal leviathan wreaking havoc on his ship. Another shape, even larger than the Reaper on the hull, was visible there. The distinct four eyes and shape were immediately recognizable.

"Worton, confirm that we have Harbinger in our sights?" Hackett barked, dark anticipation in his rough voice.

An eternal moment passed, as the woman checked her control panels.

"Confirmed, we have Harbinger in our sights," she answered shakily.

"Bring us on course with it and prepare for last resort," he ordered.

They'd get that monster, even if it was the last thing they did. He spotted grim grins on several faces throughout the CIC. No one seemed to even think to protest.

"All gunner- and maintenance-personnel evacuate. It has been an honour," he continued solemnly as the Orizaba turned ponderously to aim at the colossal Harbinger, the turn slowed by the Reaper on the bow. A low hum reverberated through the ship, joining the sound of tortured metal in a discordant rhythm.

"You want to see how a human dies?" he muttered, echoing the bravest human reporter he'd ever had the honour of knowing. He dropped his carefully schooled expression of calm, and in its place appeared one of fierce anger, the first time his emotions had been clearly visible on his face during the entire engagement.

Hackett glared daggers equally at the Reaper that was fast dismantling his flag ship and at Harbinger, while the hum built up and a few frantic orders passed through the air.

He opened a channel to the entire fleet and took a deep breath.

Then the breath left him in an astonished gasp as he saw a beam, red as hellfire, slam into the side of the Reaper on his ship, overpowering the Reapers barriers and carving a molten trail in its metallic chitin.

"That shot was from another Reaper," Worton shouted incredulously, confirming the thought Hackett had considered too ridiculous to believe.

"And it isn't the only one," Worton continued, "several Reapers have opened fire on their own and we have reports that attacks have faltered on all fronts!"

Another shudder shook the ship and Hackett saw the gigantic limbs jerkily release their grip, before the Reaper rose away from the ruined dreadnought in a cloud of rent metal and shattered ablative armour. It moved gracefully over the CIC, as hordes of oculi gathered around it, flowing into the Reaper like bees returning to a hive.

He could see the last of a swarm enter Harbinger, the almost solid mass of oculi vanishing into the monstrous spaceship.

Harbinger drew its limbs in under its body, changing its shape into a more compact one. Hackett ground his teeth in frustration, somehow knowing it would jump into FTL before they managed to hit it. Just as the Oribaza finally lined up with the Reaper Leader, the gigantic metal colossus vanished in a flash of color.

He changed the comm. channel to only ship-wide and hurriedly said: "Abort the previous order."

Almost immediately the hum began to lessen.

"The Reapers are retreating," Worton said quietly, sounding like she couldn't believe what she saw and was completely lost as to what she should think.

It was true. The information panels told the same story as what he saw on the viewscreen. The oculi were rapidly returning to their Reaper carriers, and the Reapers were vanishing one by one.

"Admiral, the enemy is retreating," sounded the tinny voice of Han'Gerrel, "orders?"

"We have reports that the ground ships have also retreated," Worton informed him.

"Consolidate positions, pick up survivors. We have no way of tracking the Reapers, so our priority is to give relief to the Citadel and the ground forces," Hackett said, cutting through the chatter of several other confused commanders.

He took a moment to steady himself, before he opened a channel to the entire fleet. Infusing as much confidence and smouldering anger into his voice, he said: "I was just informed that the Charon Relay is no longer functional. We cannot leave the system. We have lost many good soldiers today. But we have, on this day, where we stood together as a united galaxy, turned the tide. The Reapers have been routed, their ground forces broken. We have taken Earth back. We have earned a respite and we will use it wisely, before we resume our war and wipe the Reapers from the galaxy. From _our _galaxy. Hackett out."

He only hoped that would be enough to keep the morale up until they figured out how they were really going to do that. And that nobody considered that, unlike them, the Reapers weren't completely stranded.

* * *

"From _our _galaxy. Hackett out."

Captain Tol'Kira vas Timak grimaced, unseen behind his opaque, red visor and folded his six fingers tightly around the armrests on his chair to stop himself from wringing his hands. He could see the point of the speech, but it sounded hollow to him. The Reapers had fled, but they were still superior in space and now that they had lost the Relay, the Reapers could in principle just leave them behind and start harvesting the galaxy while the galactic fleet rotted in the Sol system. His crew seemed to have had their spirits lifted slightly though, judging by the tone of their quiet, but slightly hopeful chatter.

He tapped the glowing panel in front of him, opening a comm. channel to the four remaining ships of Vanguard and prepared himself for bad news.

"We've been unable to interface with the Relay. What have you picked up?"

"Our findings are consistent with yours, the Relay is completely inert." The smooth, cultured voice of the asari, Captain Moira, held a note of sadness, but was otherwise completely neutral.

Captain Ourus growled shortly before answering.

"I doubt we'd find anything you didn't, but we've got nothing too." The slight resonance in the turian's voice was even more pronounced than previously, betraying his agitation and unease.

"We concur. The Relay's dead," Captain Malorn chimed in. The salarian's tone was all business, the words clipped and without warmth.

"Same here," Captain Khrushchev said. The humans voice was quiet, more of a low mumble than a proper response, but Tol saw no reason to comment.

A short silence followed, and Tol sighed quietly when he didn't receive a fifth reply. He wouldn't ever like the geth or the fact that they had had a ship in Vanguard, but if the now unresponsive synthetic had reactivated and informed them that they were all wrong and that the Relay could still function, he would have hugged the life out of the next geth platform he saw. Sadly, it didn't happen.

"Very well, then-" he began, trailing off at the sight on his screen.

His viewscreen was suddenly filled with the metallic, red-eyed forms of oculi, as a horde of the small crafts swarmed forward to engulf his and the other ships. Behind the almost solid cloud of spherical ships he saw dozens of the enormous Reaper Ships dropping out of FTL almost on top of the inert Relay.

The titanic starships settled onto the Relay, grabbing onto the superstructure with their segmented limbs. Incredibly quickly, a large part of the round end of the Relay was covered with the dark metallic behemoths, like shining black tumours.

He recovered from the shock a moment later, and hastily barked an order:

"Withdraw and observe!"

Acknowledgements reached his ears as he watched his crew working feverishly to find a way to break free from the rapidly thickening cloud of oculi, so they could jump to FTL and escape. He didn't voice his pessimistic first thought; that it might already be too late.

A moment later his hope died as he saw even more Reapers drop out of FTL, the rapidly growing group of Reaper Destroyers and Carriers adding their own oculi to the already huge group of spherical ships.

Then everything exploded into chaos as red the color of old stars flared, from the Destroyers and the oculi. With astonishment, he realized that they weren't the target. The barrage from the Destroyers smashed into barriers around the Reapers that had attached to the Relay, while the Destroyers oculi engaged the other oculi in vicious close combat.

Shaking his head in disbelief, he opened a channel to the leaders of the galactic fleet and spoke hurriedly:

"Admirals, we have Reapers at the Relay!"

The words had barely left his mouth when even more Reapers arrived, a group of Capital Ships which immediately opened fire on the Destroyers attacking the Relay group.

"They are attacking each other," he continued, hardly believing his own eyes, even if they confirmed what he'd heard only minutes earlier.

"You're in the shadow of Mars, we're getting in position," Admiral Hackett informed him curtly.

Crimson beams flashed and barriers flared, flickered and failed beneath the onslaught. Several Destroyers were rapidly ripped apart and explosions blazed in the hundreds where oculi destroyed each other.

Several Destroyers gathered and with their combined attacks, burst through the barrier of one Capital ship, only to be forced to cease their attack and disperse when several other Reapers opened fire on them.

The battle between the Reapers had drawn many oculi back from the Timak and the crew had taken advantage of this to move towards somewhere open enough to jump to FTL. A moment before they reached their destination, the previously almost open space was taken up by a colossus of black steel and blazing yellow eyes, the silhouette instantly recognizable to any captain or higher ranking in the galactic fleet.

"Get us around, and don't get its attention!" Tol orderd.

Red death shot out from Harbinger's eyes, straight past the Timak and on his screens he saw how the rest of the Reapers reacted. The oculi withdrew completely, and the Reaper ships engaged in combat rapidly vanished. The giant that was Harbinger soared towards the Timak, its massive limbs alone dwarfing the ship.

Tol's gaze was fixed on the viewscreen, and he gaped behind his visor when he saw Harbinger fire all four of its main guns at the Relay and the Reapers there. The barrier flared, burning bright blue, as it blocked the crimson beams. Harbinger's attack lasted for several seconds, before the beams abruptly winked out.

"Energy build-up at the Relay."

The words barely registered in Tol's mind as he watched the scene unfold, Harbinger's eyes blazing red again while blue swirled around the Reapers at the relay. Then the blue glow exploded in a blinding flash.

"Keela," he breathed, stunned.

A million stars twinkled in the dark void, their light glittering in untold pieces of shattered metal, the only evidence that a battle had taken place. The Reapers, intact and destroyed alike, where gone. Harbinger was gone.

And so was the Charon Relay.

* * *

_Well, that was the newest chapter. Hope it was fun, in spite of the few non-canon characters._

_I'm considering rewriting the summary and removing M!Shepard as the character tag, as Shepard won't get a lot of screen time during the next few chapters, where I plan on focusing on different (mainly canon) characters. Those two things are being considered because this is turning into a more aftermath-like affair than I first thought. _

_And it's here it's beginning to get really hard, because now I'm really off the framework of the game's ending, so I hope it's still readable._

_Again, any and all input is appreciated, because 1) it shows that I actually write something worth commenting on and 2) I'm not the best at editing my own text and finding my own mistakes. I think the last is a general thing._


	5. Mending

_I don't own M__E. Otherwise, the general outline of these events would have been a possible ending, with much better writing._

_Enjoy._

* * *

Mending

The shuttle banked sharply for a moment, making the gurneys shake in their simple restraints and rattling the medical equipment and medicine in the compartments. Hans Deichmann was thrown forward, only to be stopped painfully by the straps curled around his upper body, before another lurch of the shuttle sent his head slamming into the steel behind him. He grabbed the handhold above him with one hand while bracing himself against the wall with the other and muttered a few choice expletives about this Cortez guy who had eagerly jumped into the pilot seat for this flight. Then he shrugged and raised his gaze to the other passengers, the motley collection of men and women he had working for him. He was quite impressed with how far some of them had come. The ones who hadn't had much experience before the war were now almost as useful as those who had actually been trained at the beginning. He nodded to himself and caught the gaze of the others as sporadic gunfire and eerie, mournful howls became audible over the wind and the hum of the engine.

"Taking us down," Cortez told them, as the shuttle turned and slowed to an almost complete halt, while the passengers all loosened their safety harnesses. With a dull thump, the shuttle set down on the ground, the adaptable landing gear allowing it to keep almost level despite the incline.

Even as the rear doors opened, letting the medics hear the sounds of battle in full force, the gurneys were being loosened and medical equipment snatched up. Hans rushed down the ramp made by the lower door, with the rest of his crew following closely behind him, noting with surprised relief that the landing zone was actually free of hostiles.

The sound of other shuttles setting down nearby reached his ears as he moved the short distance from the ramp to the wrecked vehicle ahead of him, easily navigating the scorched rubble and debris.

Shielded from the wind by the burned-out Mako, surrounded by corpses and used heat clips, sat two battered-looking humans, an asari with ugly burns and a ruined arm and a four-eyed alien unlike any he'd ever seen. Propped up against the side of the Mako was a turian, his eyes closed and his breath coming in shuddering gasps. He'd lost the lower parts of his legs and his face was a blue, gory mess.

In the center of the group lay a slim, suit-clad form. The soft azure glow enveloping the quarian cast the worried faces of the teammates in a ghostly light. Hans snapped on a facemask when he saw the cracked faceplate, several suit-breaches, the broken arm and the large stomach-wound. Without a word, some of the medics hurried to the turian, while Hans knelt by the unconscious quarian.

"You can remove the stasis now," he said, and the asari removed the hand she'd had gently resting on the quarian's shoulder, the blue field around the quarian receding as she did so.

"Get her on the gurney," he spoke to no-one in particular, and the medics with him hurried to put down the gurney next to him. Out the corner of his eye he saw the turian get lifted onto the other gurney, while one of his medics examined the medi-gel-covered remains of the asari's arm.

While the medics put the patient on the gurney, Hans pushed a button on his wrist, and red light snaked around his arm and shaped itself into his omnitool, which he quickly hooked it up to the quarian's suit. Numbers flitted across the holographic display, too fast to read for anything but a trained professional, and Hans huffed in irritation at the information he gleaned from the suit.

"Stupid buckethead, don't belong in live combat" he grumbled, bringing out a syringe from his pocket. He prepared it and unceremoniously stuck it into the exposed skin on the quarian's stomach.

"Strap her down," he continued, as the quarian began to shudder, no longer kept still by the biotic field. He heard gravel crunching before a shadow suddenly fell over him, and he turned to glare at the idiot who was blocking his light.

His breath caught in his throat as he looked up at the largest, most solid creature he'd ever been face to face with. And it was carrying the largest shotgun he'd ever seen. Beneath a thick, scratched crest, crimson eyes were set deep in a face of leathery, scarred skin. Thick, damaged armor covered most of the huge form, grey with dust and black with spatters of oily blood. The enormous krogan didn't move a muscle, merely gazing steadily at him with slightly narrowed eyes, his grip on the weapon firm but relaxed.

Hans felt cold beads of sweat spring forth on his forehead and he quickly averted his gaze, only to meet the icy glower of the turian, which sent a chill down his spine. He could practically feel similar glares from the rest of the group and he decided that he'd said something he probably shouldn't have.

Hans narrowed his eyes, and took a second to gather himself, before getting up from his kneeling position.

"Right, you keep up the stasis field unless I say otherwise," he said, attempting to appear unruffled as he pointed at the asari. She complied and once again enveloped the quarian in a soft blue glow, but her expression was still murderous.

"You; stop trying to kill me with your eyes," Hans said to the turian. As he turned to hurry back to the shuttle, he noted that the weight of their glares hadn't lessened.

"The rest of you will have to find alternative transport, we don't have room," he said, almost managing to sound nonchalant. The asari and his team hurried after him with the patients and moments later, the gurneys were being secured in the shuttle while he sat down next to the asari and activated the radio.

"This is Hans Deichmann on Medical shuttle 22-A. Quarian with multiple breaches and previously removed foreign object. Turian with severe leg injuries. Requesting vector to quarian medical facility. Inform the pilot," he said briskly, before turning to watch his team bustle about the patients. The turian had apparently lost consciousness, finally. Hans was amazed at how long he'd apparently held out with such injuries and that made his job easier.

"Now, let me see that arm. There isn't much I can do for her right now," Hans said.

The asari's eyes were narrowed as she turned to him, but she sighed and presented the mangled stump to him, while holding her hand steady over the quarian patient.

"Just keep up the stasis for as long as you can," he said, feeling the shuttle shudder as it took off.

"That's her best chance," he continued, silently adding that it probably was a slim chance either way.

* * *

The magnetic clamps attached to the hull with a dull thump and with a few quick gestures the engines began powering down and the holographic displays winked out, leaving Joker in partial darkness, the only illumination coming from the hallway behind him. He drew his cap down over his eyes and sank further into the leather chair, feeling completely and utterly exhausted. He sat there, motionless in the empty, silent cockpit, staring blankly forwards, barely registering the gunmetal-grey side of the dreadnought to the left or the flickers of light to his right, indicating other ships moving about.

The ship, well, the crew at least, were all in one piece.

His gaze drifted slowly to his right, gliding from the view through the window to the darkened console and further. When a console that wasn't his and the outline of an empty chair came into his sight, he turned his head to the left with a jerk, his eyes burning. He gripped his armrests tightly and stared into the left wall for a moment, his hands trembling slightly, before he pushed himself up from the stair.

The movement was jerky, violent and sent pain coursing up his arms, making him take a short, hissing breath but also bringing some small measure of strange relief. With his hands on the headrest, he moved gingerly around the chair, before letting go and increasing his pace.

When he left the cockpit, he was already moving too fast, each step sending jolts of pain up through his shins and knees. He ignored the half confused, half elated chatter that met him as he walked stiffly between the glowing monitors on the CIC and didn't respond when some of the crewmembers he passed spoke to him. He didn't register who spoke to him either, merely noting somewhere in the back of his head that the tone of the last was considerably more worried than that of the first.

He walked into the elevator and pressed the button for Deck 3 before leaning heavily against the wall, his legs aching. As the door closed, he caught a glimpse of a woman, Traynor he realized, who sent him a pitying glance. He scowled at the door until it opened again and he once again sped up to till each step across the mess hall hurt.

The doors parted and as he entered the well-lit room and breathed in the arid, sterile-smelling air, Doctor Chakwas spun her chair around to see who had entered. Her eyes widened briefly, before her expression grew somber. He passed her, not sparing another glance at the doctor getting to her feet.

As the doors to the AI Core opened and closed behind him, he heard the doctor mutter a single word, clearly worried:

"Jeff."

He walked quickly across the floor and plopped down on the bench at the other end of the room, resting his elbows on his knees and staring despondently into the cold steel floor. Now that he was sitting, the pain faded to a throbbing ache. He swallowed thickly and clenched his hands into fists, realizing he didn't know what the point of going down here had been. It wasn't like he'd expected a blue hologram or a cool, electronic voice to greet him was it? The only sound in the room was a low, metallic hum, the only sight grey metal and soft blue glowing panels.

He heard the click and whooshes of the doors parting and raised his head slightly to see Chakwas entering. Her expression was disapproving, but it didn't quite reach her eyes, which betrayed far more worry than the stern set of her mouth seemed to indicate.

"Jeff, acting out like that will set your improvements back weeks," she chastised him.

"What, can't I have a spring in my step now that we've won?" he asked, his lips forming a strained smirk while his eyes returned to the floor.

"You were not springing, you were practically stomping here. You have most likely already gotten dozens of microfractures and are probably in pain at the moment," she answered, clearly not amused.

Joker's gaze flicked to her face, saw her frown and the sympathetic look she gave him, before he averted his eyes again. She was right of course, his legs did hurt.

"Why aren't you on the Logan, hunting down some Serrice Ice Brandy to celebrate our great and noble victory, instead of being in here talking to me?" he asked, bitterness creeping into his voice.

"Because the brandy can wait. You, on the other hand, are clearly hurting right now," Chakwas answered, stepping across the floor and seating herself next to him. She put a hand on his shoulder and sighed.

"Jeff-" she began, but he cut her off.

"Why should I be hurting?" he asked flippantly, his smirk slipping and his voice wavering. "We're alive, the Reapers ran with their tail, tentacles, whatever, between their, other tentacles I guess, and all the freaky mutants they'd made suddenly decided that their friends looked tasty. I'm ecstatic about that."

Chakwas squeezed his shoulder and sighed again.

"You marched down here, spoke to no one on the way and would have been brooding if I hadn't come in to speak with you," Chakwas said. "You're usually more careful with your bones and somewhat chattier."

Joker stayed silent, refusing to meet her gaze. His muscles tensed and he could feel his nails digging into his palms.

Chakwas sighed, and tried again:

"Jeff-"

"The Commander and Anderson's MIA. Tali's probably gonna die, Garrus and Liara got maimed!" he burst out. He sucked in a breath before muttering in a subdued tone: "We _didn't _win. They just left and look what it cost us!"

"And," he continued, unable to continue past the lump in his throat. He slumped and brought a hand up under his cap, hiding his eyes and the tears gathering there.

Chakwas rubbed his shoulder, her warm hand a comfort in the suddenly oppressive emptiness of the room.

"And why are you _here_?" she prompted, nothing but warmth and sympathy in her voice.

"And EDI's gone," Joker answered, his voice cracking, "really gone."

"I'm sorry, Jeff," Chakwas said softly.

For a long moment, neither spoke, their breathing, his hitching, Chakwas' calm and steady, and the hum of the machinery around them the only sounds breaking the silence.

"Didn't expect it to happen like this," Joker muttered. He let out a choking parody of a chuckle. "And I guess neither did the Commander."

"What?"

"He encouraged me, when I was afraid of getting a broken heart and shattered pelvis. I was wrong about the pelvis," he joked weakly, facing her as the tears starting to fall.

"I'd have done what I could to help with that," Chakwas said, giving him a small, sad smile. Her grip on his shoulder tightened. "And we'll help with this too. We'll get through everything."

"Thanks," he croaked, "I, I just need some time."

"Of course, Jeff."

* * *

Admiral Hackett let his gaze sweep across the silent room. A number of trusted guards of various races were spread out along the walls, ready to interfere should any kind of conflict break out among the leaders of the galaxy. The thought was, depressingly, not completely unreasonable, though the two with the most reason for animosity were fortunately not both physically in the room.

At the far end of the polished, wooden table the holographic projection of the Council appeared in a swirl of blue. The diplomats stood with rigid backs, their faces betraying no emotion. Several others were present by hologram as well. Din Korlack, the volus ambassador, the hanar ambassador Emaindar, and an elcor, Ambassador Calyn, stood to the right of the Council's hologram, conveying even less emotions. On the other side of the Council stood the robed figure of salarian Dalatrass Linron, her expression sullen.

At the left side of the table sat the quarian admirals, the current representatives of the Conclave. If Hackett were to judge, Han'Gerrel and Zaal'Koris seemed agitated, Shala'Raan pensive and Daro'Xen seemed simply bored, idly tinkering with her omnitool.

On the opposite side of the quarians sat Primarch Victus, clawed hands clasped on the table, scanning the room like Hackett was.

And furthest away from the Council and the Dalatrass, and consequently, close enough to Hackett for him to pick up the sandy, leathery smell of the krogan, sat the probable cause of the Dalatrass' current annoyance. Urdnot Wrex, the de facto leader of the krogans, looked vaguely amused, if his small, crooked grin was anything to go by. He also looked more relaxed than anyone else in the room, except for maybe Daro'Xen.

In the hollow in the middle of the table floated a softly glowing map of the galaxy, white dots indicating star clusters.

Hackett cleared his throat, drawing the gaze of everyone present, physically or by hologram.

"Leaders of the galaxy," he began, "we have established communications with these clusters."

At his words, a number of the dots on the map were encircled in blue.

"The intel from these sources fit with what we experienced in the Sol Cluster. The Reapers have withdrawn from every cluster we have contact with, some of them fighting amongst themselves. The Reaper ground forces are self-destructing, though we have reports that lone husks of any variation attack on sight."

"Every cluster with the ability to investigate has reported that their mass relays are either inert or have vanished, as the Charon Relay did in this system. Each cluster is now cut off from the rest of the galaxy, except for communication by quantum entangling devices."

Red bars appeared by most of the encircled clusters.

"These clusters are the ones from where the mass relays have disappeared. All of these clusters also had heavy Reaper presence, compared to the clusters where the relays simply deactivated."

Councilor Tevos raised a dainty hand when Hackett's summation ended.

"So, the Reapers have the relays," she said, her tone slightly troubled.

"Broken relays," Victus broke in, turning to look at the Council. "According to Vanguard, the Charon Relay's rings and eezo core were destroyed, luckily not in the supernova we'd expect from it. All relays that were left behind have been reported to be in a similar state."

"But the Reapers would know how to repair them. We can't allow them to be free to roam the galaxy", Councilor Valern said, cocking his head at a beep from his wrist, where his omnitool suddenly appeared.

"We have ships out scouting for the Reapers, but, truth be told, we are not in any shape to hunt them down at present. We've lost a full third of the fleet, and another third is badly damaged, not fit for scouting, let alone full scale combat" Hackett said.

Victus looked at him for a moment, before nodding his head solemnly and adding his piece:

"We need to regroup and plan, we can't just strike blindly. A rash attack might even unite the Reapers again, and the division we've seen might be used to our advantage if we allow the sides to wear each other out."

"So, you're just going to wait and hope the Reaper situation will blow over?" Dalatrass Linron asked, disdain in her voice.

A low, guttural growl rose and then turned into words:

"Like you decided your fleet should when Shepard refused to betray us?"

The gravelly tone was calm, but with an undercurrent of menace that was impossible to miss. Wrex had leaned forward to gaze steadily at the Dalatrass, his amused smirk replaced with a threatening display of bared teeth.

The dalatrass looked unimpressed, meeting the krogan's gaze with a contemptuous glare, while Councilor Valern looked warily between the two.

"Good thing most of you were smarter than that. And that Shepard pulled through again," Wrex added, leaning back into his chair again, eliciting an ominous creak from it. Fortunately, the huge, reinforced chair held, despite the protesting material.

Hackett silently agreed with the krogan. The way the salarian had coldly attempted to convince Shepard to betray an entire species, when the situation had been so dire, had disgusted Hackett when he'd been informed. Even if he could see the logic behind it.

"The purpose of this meeting is to decide on a course of action, not to discuss previous events," Tevos broke in, her calm voice holding a note of reproach.

Wrex turned his gaze on the councilor, but didn't protest. The dalatrass didn't voice any objection either, but her eyes narrowed and her mouth set in a thin line. Hackett doubted she'd forget this.

"Repairs on the fleet are underway. Though our ground forces took heavy losses, the remaining soldiers are now occupied with aiding civilians on Earth and the Citadel, or evacuating the wounded," Victus said, bringing the meeting back on track.

"We also have four squads tracking down the soldiers who made it onto the Citadel. Some of their transponders are active, but scrambled. We only know that the signals are coming from the beneath the Presidium," Hackett said.

He sighed quietly, before continuing: "Considering that they haven't contacted us, we assume the worst. And we have not picked up Shepard's signal at all."

At the mention of Shepard's disappearance, Wrex huffed and smirked confidently. Han'Gerrel put his right hand over his stomach in a seemingly unconscious gesture, while bowing his head slightly. The rest of the room bowed their heads or made similar gestures of respect, though Daro'Xen's display didn't look very sincere.

"Different matters need to be addressed. Even if the Reapers are defeated, the situation is untenable. Councilor Valern," Tevos said, gesturing subtly to the salarian and taking a step back.

Valern nodded and stepped forward, clearing his throat as he did. He tapped a few keys at his omnitool and the galaxy map shrank, giving way to a hologram depicting the very recognizable shape, a ring with two long prons. There were no rings spinning inside the ring though.

"Despite the discovery that the Relay Monument was a miniature mass relay, we have not studied it extensively. STG has done some investigating, but this discovery has gotten too little attention," Valern began. He glanced pointedly at the rest of the council and the dalatrass, to no visible effect.

"We need to learn its secrets now," he continued, "so we can repair the Relays or build our own, if those the Reapers have taken are rendered unusable. STG is prepared for full cooperation with the experts we expect you to set to this task. Needless to say, the researchers need to be sworn to secrecy. We can't have this knowledge fall into the wrong hands."

There were nods and gestures of agreement all around.

"Liara T'soni would be your best prothean expert on site. Though she is young, she has shown the ability of a much older asari. She will know who to add to the project," Tevos added. Wrex' smirk grew for a moment.

"This one shall endeavor to make available all relevant information pertaining to the Enkindlers." Emaindar's echoing words were accompanied by a few flashes of soft light and a raised tentacle.

There was a loud, mechanical inhale, before Din Korlack added his piece: "We will offer all possible assistance." Then he inhaled noisily, as if the short sentence had left him completely out of breath.

"Regretfully: the elcor have little to contribute, but we will relay any information we find," Calyn droned, pausing for a moment, before adding: "Imploringly: please hurry, millions are dependent on the relays for supplies."

Tevos broke in, before anyone else could voice their support: "Ambassador Calyn's point leads us to the next order of business. As we have no estimate f how long the clusters will be cut off from each other, we need to plan for how to supply the clusters."

"Earth is badly damaged, and will most likely be badly contaminated with eezo. We hope it will be salvageable, but we need contingencies," she said, turning to the quarian admirals.

"We'd like to draw on your expertise in optimizing food production."

The first overt reaction to the announcement was a mechanical snort, followed by a deep, monotonous comment: "Reproachful: Din Korlack."

Shala'Raan clasped her hands as she leaned forward, inhaling sharply enough for it to be transmitted through her mask's mouthpiece.

"Well, of course-" she began, only to be interrupted by Daro'Xen.

"We want the geth," she said, pleased anticipation in her voice. For the first time since the meeting began, she had stopped fiddling with her omnitool. Now she sat facing the Council properly, her posture languid but somehow hungry.

"Destroyed," Han'Gerrel added tensely, drawing the gaze of everyone in the room, including Daro'Xen, who whipped her masked head around and hissed: "No, we can use them."

Shala'Raan was almost as quick to blurt out an incredulous: "What?"

She echoed Hackett's thoughts exactly, though he realized a moment later that he should have seen it coming. Across the room from Hackett, the council members had drawn together and were now conversing in whispers too low for Hackett to pick up.

"You want to destroy them? To pick them apart and use them as slaves? When we've just made peace with them?" Zaal'Koris said fiercely, curling both his hands into fists.¨

"It's the perfect time to strike, they are all inert," Han'Gerrel said insistently.

"Just begging to be salvaged," Daro'Xen added expectantly.

"I see it's not just the Council that likes to use and discard." The words came in a low, dry rumble, though the quarians seemed to be too caught up in their own argument to notice Wrex' dangerous tone.

"They might just have entered a form of hibernation, we can't just do with them as we please" Shala'Raan said cautiously.

"And when they wake up and attack us? Can we handle a strike from within with the Reapers still out there?" Han'Gerrel responded heatedly, slamming his hands flat on the table.

Hackett cleared his throat loudly before he spoke, politely but firmly:

"The geth all seem to follow the example of the platform designated as Legion. Commander Shepard trusted Legion, and in extension, the geth collective, to maintain peaceful relations with us. I trust the commander's judgment."

"As do I," Victus said smoothly.

"But we can gain so much knowledge and technology from them, to use against the Reapers," Daro'Xen objected, an irritated edge in her voice.

Despite the tense set of his shoulders clearly betraying his agitation, Han'Gerrel remained silent this time, obviously seeing how the room was turning against him.

"You neither have majority among yourselves, nor among the whole assembly here," Tevos said firmly, joining the debate one again.

"The Council does not condone exterminations of intelligent life," Councilor Sparatus said solemnly, the first words he'd contributed with during the entire meeting.

Hackett resisted the urge to snort at the hypocritical statement. Wrex showed them no such courtesy and his loud outburst drew quick, annoyed glances from the Council members.

"The Council does not condone experimentation on intelligent life," Councilor Valern added loftily, his tone bearing a slight note of annoyance. His left eye twitched when Wrex, no longer smirking, huffed scornfully and Hackett had to remind himself not to smirk at the display of the up-front krogan. He didn't miss the slight flaring of Victus' mandibles either, even if it only lasted a moment.

"We the Council are unable to decide on this matter, seeing as we are missing a member, " Councilor Tevos added regally. She hesitated a second, before continuing:

"However, I would suggest you might store the geth on Luna until an agreement can be reached or the geth reactivate. They will naturally be under heavy guard so your fears of betrayal can be soothed and to prevent the less moral from taking it upon themselves to do research on the geth."

"As a gesture of goodwill, we would like to offer an official embassy to the quarians, to welcome them back into the galactic community they have for so long been outcasts from in all but law," Valern said.

A loud, wheezing exhale sounded in the room, immediately followed by a deep, droning voice.

"Admonishing: Din Korlack."

The volus kept silent.

"This offer extends to the krogan, of course," Tevos said, nodding at Wrex, who just shrugged.

"I don't know if you can handle our-" Wrex paused, then continued with a hint of mirth in his voice, "diplomats."

"This sounds acceptable," Zaal'Koris said, glancing pointedly at the other admirals. They all nodded, but only Shala'Raan seemed satisfied with the outcome.

"And of course we will assist with all our technical expertise, in all areas we can help," he added.

"I have to demand that we don't convert any ships into live-ships, as we are still at war and need all we've got," Han'Gerrel said sullenly.

Hackett brought a hand up to rub his chin.

"We should have plenty of raw materials in this cluster," he said, his face darkening at the thought that the easiest available material was the ruined cities and ships in the cluster, "and there should be plenty of room on Mars for your constructions."

"That sounds reasonable," Han'Gerrel agreed grudgingly. Zaal'Koris and Shala'Raan nodded in unity, while Daro'Xen merely leaned back and scoffed irritably.

"Unless there are any other pressing matters to attend to, we will call an end to this meeting," Tevos said.

No one voiced any objections to ending the meeting, and with a murmur of parting greetings, the holograms faded. The moment the blue light had vanished, Daro'Xen got to her feet and rapidly left the room, followed by Han'Gerrel, who at least was courteous enough to nod politely at the remaining occupants.

Zaal'Koris and Shala'Raan turned to Hackett, but before they could say anything, he raised a hand and spoke:

"I'll set the preparations in motion and assure full cooperation. We'll contact you as soon as possible."

"I'm glad the Council didn't bow to the warmonger," Zaal'Koris said, a mix of relief and irritation in his voice.

"We look forward to continue working with you, in war and peace," Shala'Raan said gratefully.

"Keelah se'lai," she and Zaal'Koris added simultaneously. Hackett merely nodded respectfully, before the two quarians left the room, the quarian guards following them.

Hackett turned his gaze to Wrex, who rose, eliciting another loud creak from his chair. The krogan turned to him and rumbled: "Hackett, Victus."

"Wrex," Hackett answered, almost in unison with Victus. They both nodded at the suddenly smirking krogan, before he turned and left with his lone guard, the huge, odd, blue-crested krogan following him, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like: "when do we find something to kill?"

As the doors closed behind the krogans, Victus shook his head and muttered tiredly: "Politicians."

Hackett couldn't agree more with the turian. Even now there were attempts to profit from the catastrophe.

"You could even see how they fought to restrain themselves from playing their usual games," Hackett said, letting a note of humor creep into his tone.

"That's something at least," Victus answered wryly, getting up and signaling to his guards, who quickly moved to stand at his sides.

"It did go smoother than I had feared," Victus said. "Perhaps we won't break apart in petty squabbles until the Reapers are defeated."

"We can only hope," Hackett said to the turian, picking up a datapad from the table and scanning the information.

"We can't fail. We _will_ have victory," Victus said fiercely as he exited.

Hackett silently wondered if that was true. And what the cost would be.

* * *

An uncountable number of voices buzzed and clicked deafeningly loud in the packed emptiness. Thorned tendrils wriggled and writhed, piercing and stabbing horribly as they probed through the immense minds, searching aeons-long memories as vast as the galaxy for the knowledge they held. The iron grip had loosened in places, to allow for the burying search, but that had also resulted in the resistance mounting and something resentful awakening. Flame licked at the network of tendrils that pervaded the mindscape as the infection was attempted burnt to ash, while black, oily pressure threatened to drown and taint the usurpers. The invasive feelers, like insects scuttling beneath skin and worms writhing through veins, the fire, blazing through the psyche with the heat of a sun and the dark grasping tar, combined into an excruciating agony. Across the galaxy, the cold of the void froze plated hide, red flashed and metal buckled, as colossal arms gripped and tore.

They would endure and they would overcome. They were unstoppable.

* * *

_Well, that was that. I hope the long diplomacy scene was readable, somewhat in character and that it didn't seem like it was too easy to come to agreement. The impending threat to all life in the galaxy has to make some people get their priorities right. It was really hard to write though. That many people, who I don't have such a good feel for, and the challenge of writing politicians. Really hard. But somewhat fun.  
_

_Also, how is the Joker and Chakwas scene? Because I tried, but it's hard to be sure it's good enough._

_I really enjoy writing Wrex, hope I'm getting him right, and Calyn was an unexpectedly fun addition two, mostly because elcor are hilarious generally._

_Let me hear your thoughts. As always, all input are appreciated, whether it is grammar, praise or more "interesting" criticism._


	6. Discovery

_I don't own M__E. Otherwise, the general outline of these events would have been a possible ending, with much better writing._

_Enjoy._

* * *

Discovery

The grating clattered dully under solid military boots and a low hum emanated from some unseen machinery beyond the paneled walls of the narrow corridor. Beneath the trembling metal, pipes and wires snaked forward, revealed by the harsh, flickering light of lamps overhead. Each inhale brought cool, stale air into the stuffy helmet, the breaths carrying a hint of iron and oil.

Simon Stanford was following the directions on the softly glowing display in the upper right corner of his vision. The signals from the missing soldiers' transponders were oddly erratic and hard to discern clearly down here and he only knew that there was some signals up ahead, not which transponders they came from or how far ahead they were. It was the same for the other squads. Combined with the odd layout of this part of the Citadel, the search teams had been reduced to walk in the general directions of the signals and hope for the best.

A second of static preceded the transmission from Team One:

"Status," was the curt demand from Sergeant Stavarache.

"This is disgusting," Newlands answered as the first, his voice strained and his breathing measured. An almost inaudible gagging sound followed.

"Report, Newlands," the sergeant snapped, his voice gaining an edge of annoyance.

There was a pause, before Newlands answered, his voice slightly shaky:

"We found this huge, dark room, filled with-" he paused and inhaled carefully, before continuing, "filled with corpses, just stacked and thrown about. We can barely see the walls; the floor is covered with blood and shit. Tech's identified two signals ahead."

So that was there the Citadel inhabitants had been taken, Simon thought gloomily, spotting a dark doorway on the right side of the corridor further ahead. He hurried to the corner and held up a closed fist, before he peered down the hallway, seeing only darkness.

"Oh shit!" Newlands gasped, and gunfire sounded over the radio, a short, wild burst, before silence fell again.

"Sorry, Sarge, no problems here," Newlands said, before Stavarache could ask for information, erasing the small flicker of worry Simon had felt at the burst of weapons fire.

"Just one of those keepers that came crawling over a mound of dead, scared the crap outta me," he elaborated, sounding both annoyed and sheepish.

Simon turned on his helmet-mounted flashlight, the cone of light illuminating a corridor much like the one he was in. Further down the hallway, it ended at another intersection. He waved a flat hand forward and his squad hustled onward.

"Get it together Newlands, you're not a rat anymore," Stavarache responded, before continuing, "Squad 3, report."

"Another dead end," Spencer growled irritably, "I swear, all these seem like they were closed off at random. Just long hallways with no intersections, ending abruptly."

She sighed, and the growl in her voice lessened.

"And no light at all, lots of corpses. Reaper forces, a whole heap of them further back," she added.

Simon and his squad turned a corner and looked down a corridor with only one functional light, a few feet ahead. Beyond it, the hallway vanished into the shadows. Without a word, Judy and Lance flicked on their flashlights. The three beams of light flitted over the walls and floor, revealing nothing but an empty corridor.

"Squad 2, what've you got?" Staravache asked.

"No dead ends this far, but the layout's weird. We're making progress I think," Simon answered promptly, stalking down the dark hallway. He frowned as his light swept over an apparent dead end further down the corridor.

"What the-" Spencer exclaimed incredulously, "this wasn't there before. Sarge, there's a new corridor here by the heap now. And I've gotten a clear signal from one of the missing squads."

"Go check it out," was the reply. There was no need to tell them to be careful when something as suspicious as the walls changing happened.

The squad reached the end of the corridor and Simon opened his mouth to inform Stavarache of the development, only to snap it shut when the panel to his left slid aside, startling him. The opening led into a wide corridor that stretched both ahead and behind where they were, parallel to the hallway they stood in. In retrospect it seemed obvious that the passage they had moved through was something like a maintenance corridor.

There was a quiet beep and two names, with ranks, appeared in the corner of his eye. Simon smirked and looked down the corridor. His flashlight lit up the way to the left and his grip tightened on his M-15 Vindicator, as the cone of light revealed the unblinking eyes and silent scream of a husk. Behind the thankfully still corpse were more husks, some of them draped over a mutilated mass of muscle and metal, the corpse of a brute. The scorch marks and bullet holes told him that these had been killed before the Reaper Forces had self-destructed.

Simon glanced at the display in his screen and turned to the right, where the missing soldiers had to be.

Simon and his two squad mates picked their way carefully down the corridor, stepping warily over dead husks. There was a startlingly loud clink and Simon whirled, only to spot Lance's light glinting off a heat clip. Lance shrugged sheepishly and Simon shook his head and pressed on.

The minutes passed as they walked on, passing husk corpses with increasing regularity, as well as the odd cannibal. Dark side-corridors yawned periodically at the hallways sides, but Simon paid them no more heed than quickly checking them for hostiles and seeing only corpses down some of them. He focused on the rapidly clearing signals directly ahead.

The smell of oil, metal and blood was thick in the air and a sound like the machinery of a loading bay began to mingle with the rising, thrumming hum and the sound of footsteps. Simon wrinkled his nose as he picked up the smell of something putrid and foul, dreading that he'd correctly guessed what they were walking towards.

There was a crackle as the team-wide radio activated again.

"Two soldiers and a mountain of husks," Newlands said; his breathing back under control and his voice calm except for the note of sadness. "They're back against what I think is a door, but we're not getting through that without backup. It's massive."

"Mark the spot and go back. We'll return with equipment if necessary," Stavarache ordered.

Simon squinted as his flashlight lit up an apparent end to the corridor and as Judy and Lance lined up their flashlights with his, he saw the sleek, paneled door rise up above them. At the foot of the door lay a multitude of husk corpses and Simon could see several heat clips reflecting the light back at him. Blood, black and red, was spattered on the wall, floor and on the door, and the corpses bore marks of both controlled gun fire and of the brutal gouges and cuts of claws and teeth and omni-blades. As he took in the scene, he noticed an arm sticking out from a pile of husks, an arm clad in what was unmistakably a ripped and torn Alliance uniform.

"There," Judy breathed, nodding her head at the left corner of the corridor, where a slim, blood-soaked woman sat leaned against the wall. A husk was draped across the body, its head twisted to the left so he could see the dried blood caked on the grey lips and the strip of flesh in its teeth, ripped from the dead marine's pale, white throat. A wound halfway down the husk's back revealed a bloody, severed spine where a now vanished omni-blade had protruded.

Simon clenched his teeth, even as he spotted a severed, human arm lying next to the dead woman, the large, muscular, dark brown arm sticking out from under a husk that had been disemboweled and torn apart with teeth and talons.

The putrid stench was far stronger here, but it didn't come from this scene. Simon took a couple of steps forward, beginning to understand why Newlands had sounded so ill, and called the sergeant:

"Found three marines, buried in husks. Also a large-"

The doors suddenly parted with a smooth whisk, startling him into silence. He barely managed to keep from gagging as the revolting stench he'd picked up suddenly became overpowering and the flashlights revealed the piles of corpses, twisted, bloody and rotting, that covered the floor in the next room. He heard some muffled chokes from Lance, before Stavarache called him:

"Stanford, sit-rep!"

Simon took a deep breath, regretted it and pressed a button on his omni-tool, logging his position. Then, he entered the dark room, taking up a brisk jog to minimize the time spent in the place. His helmet display still showed signals further ahead, so until he confirmed a dead end, he had to keep going. Behind them, the doors closed with a quiet whisper.

"Found a room like Newlands," Simon said as the squad moved through the room, fighting down the disgust.

"We're hurrying to the other end," he added. An acknowledging grunt was all the reaction he got.

Corpses appeared from the darkness, only to be swallowed up by the shadows as the light beams moved on.

Only a short while later the light fell on solid, double-doors and Simon slowed. To his surprise, the doors slid apart with the dull sound of metal sliding over metal. Beyond the door, a ramp descended from a platform into the gloom.

Relieved, Simon hurried out onto the platform and scanned the surroundings. The beams of light swept around, revealing that the ramp led to a bridge which led over a darkened chasm to another ramp and a grey, segmented door. The sound of clicking and clacking machinery was louder here, apparently originating from this huge room, though the sources were out of the reach of the flashlights.

As the squad moved cautiously across the span, the sparse light shed by the flashlight revealed that the chasm went on to both sides, further than the light could reach. Simon glanced suspiciously to either side, greatly uneasy. The yawning dark on either side was too open and threatening, even more so because this was in the deepest, unknown parts of the Citadel.

They hurried over the bridge and up the incline, away from the exposed position. The door opened as they approached, allowing access to a short, narrow corridor of stainless, grey steel.

A short jog later, they passed through an unremarkable, grey door into a large room. In an instant, Simon took in the large, semicircular room, lined with grey doors. He noted the dark spots trailing from more than one door and the soft blue light spilling from the opening at the top of the incline opposite the door, before the display in his helmet wrote out a name and rank. Simon drew in a sharp breath when he read the text and hurried to the ramp in the. He bounded up the slope, stopping abruptly at the sight that struck him at the top.

He was gazing into a large, circular tomb.

A bridge jutted from the doorway, leading to a round platform twelve meters across suspended above a dark abyss. In the gloom above, angular, metallic shapes could faintly be seen. Through the huge curved window opposite the entrance, he could see the blue planet below, the shining, almost white curvature of the Earth a stark contrast to the blackness that filled the rest of the view. The light, reflected from the world that had been barely saved, poured in through the glass, painting the room in cold blues and grays. The effect was eerie, haunting, giving Simon the feeling that he was trespassing, and a chill went down his spine. He suddenly realized how quiet it was here, the silence only broken by the hum of the Citadel and the sound of his breathing, both almost subdued and in respectful of the place and the unmoving, dark shapes in it.

There was a smell of blood on the air, almost lost beneath the rank smell of charred flesh and melted synthetic fiber.

The thud of boots on the floor beside Simon announced that Lance and Judy had caught up with him and together they took cautious, reverent steps onto the bridge. The harsh, white light fell on the dais in the middle of the platform and the male body leaning against it, his back to the entrance. He was clad in grey military fatigues and black body armor and sat, crumbled in on himself with his head bent down to his chest, so a strip of dark brown skin was visible between the grey cap and his collar.

"Shit," Lance whispered numbly, as the three soldiers stepped down the slight depression in the circle and moved left around the dais. Judy sent him a sharp glance. She was moving as carefully and silently as Simon.

The second body lay to their right, limbs splayed brokenly. Simon let his light sweep up the obviously male body, which was clad in simple body armor and sensible fatigues not of Alliance make. Dried blood was spattered on and around the body, just a few droplets on the sleeves, the stains growing larger closer to the man's head.

The head, which was not there. Only the neck, covered something rough, metallic and glittering in the light, was left. The head itself had been reduced to blood and mangled muscle, broken bone and brain matter, spread out in uneven trails from the deep gouges in the floor. Black, metallic and odd, spotted the remains.

A gleaming thermal clip lay off to the side of the corpse.

The trio moved around the dais and Simon's heart sank when his flashlight revealed the face of the seated man. The wrinkled, tired features, instantly recognizable to any Alliance marine, were relaxed in death, the fatherly face still. Blood coated his stomach and his hands, having flowed from punctures in his armor.

Simon had hoped, against hope and his better judgment, that this wouldn't be the way things turned out.

Admiral David Edward Anderson.

The name blinked insistently in his right eye until Simon angrily turned it off and dragged his gaze away from the corpse of one of the most well-known and respected men in the Alliance.

His eyes trailed from the stained pistol at Admiral Anderson's side, over the blood smears on the floor to the third body in the room, from which the burnt stench came. The male body was almost kneeling in front of the raised control panel, its arms stretching up to grab two handles. The custom body armor was covered in pockmarks and scratches, turning into dark pits in the white light. A series of gashes was scored down from the neck to the hip and intense heat had scorched the armor, leaving it melted in clumps on the left side.

The bare head had sagged to the side and looked oddly metallic and pale where it wasn't black. Simon only realized why when he stepped left around the control panel and saw the body from the front. He gasped, at the patchwork skull of bone and steel, grinning at him through scraps of flesh, and at how the dead man's hands had been turned into almost unrecognizable black lumps, fused around the handles.

"Simon," Judy breathed weakly and he gratefully turned his gaze on his teammate. She stood on the corpse's right, her gaze flicking between the still discernible red stripes on the right shoulder plate and the molded N7 on the chest, chipped but still legible. Her grip on her Vindicator had slackened and her posture had sagged slightly.

There was a moment of stunned incomprehension, before Simon remembered who the simple, yet distinctive armor belonged to. He had seen it on the news and heard the owner's name used as a rallying cry throughout the war.

He felt like he'd been punched in the gut and drenched in icy water.

"Shit, it's Shepard." Lance sounded lost and miserable; his words a quiet whisper which echoed Simon's feelings. Judy shook her head slowly, the frown visible through her visor conveying a similar bewildered sadness.

Long seconds passed, before Lance crossed himself and murmured something almost inaudible. Simon and Judy simply stood there with their heads bowed. His mouth was dry and his mind a storm of conflicting thoughts, the loudest being an incredulous scream of denial. Shepard couldn't die, not until every last Reaper was dead and not even then. He just couldn't.

They stood in silence for what seemed like a long time, before Simon jerked his head up and was about to contact Staravache and the rest when he noticed the low buzz of white noise and the small flash of red in his vision, indicating the lack of connection. He whirled and walked back to the entrance, unconsciously keeping his footfalls as quiet as possible. Judy and Lance followed him a moment later.

As he walked down the ramp and crossed semicircular room to the door they had entered through, the choking feeling began to lessen as he put distance to the grave of two of the Alliance's greatest heroes and the dreadful sight and smell. The door hissed open quietly and he stepped through.

A few meters further and the white noise vanished, along with the angry red icon, only for the irritated voice of Staravache to come through, loud and clear:

"Stanford, report damnit. If you can hear this, we're sending Squad 1 to find you."

Simon gathered himself, but his voice was still shaky when he spoke:

"Sarge, we're fine. We-"

"You went silent and of the map," the sergeant snapped, before adding: "Newlands, scratch the last order."

"Sarge, we found something," Simon said, bringing a hand up to rub his face only for it to be stopped by the helmet he'd plain forgot he was wearing. There was a grunt, prompting him to continue.

"We found Admiral Anderson, dead, and an unidentified male without transponder."

He paused at the low sigh his sergeant let out, before continuing sadly:

"We also found Commander Shepard, or, what's left of him. His transponder had probably been fried; it looked like he'd been hit by lightning. Along with a lot of other shit."

There was a long pause, an uncharacteristically long stunned silence in the communication, before Staravache asked him, tone neutral:

"Are you sure it's him if he's that messed up?"

"The armor is hard to mistake for anyone else and few people have the kind of modification that he had," Simon said quietly. "And the ones on our list weren't N7."

"Well," the sergeant answered bitterly, "I'll contact the higher-ups. You stay there until you are relieved by me. Send me your directions and stay alert. We need to show these men the respect they deserve."

"Understood sir," Simon answered gravely. He nodded to Judy and Lance and the two silently walked through the door and took up position on either side of the ramp while he remained close enough to the door to allow him to keep visual contact but far enough away to be unaffected by the weird radio silencing there was further ahead. Then he settled in for a long wait.

* * *

Aralakh burned down on the rocky dunes, the blazing orb visible even through the stinging clouds of sand driven from the ground by the harsh winds. The scents on the wind were the smells of parched valleys and dusty buildings, with a sour tinge of rot and radioactivity. In the distance, visible as dark shapes through the sandstorm, the angular, solid forms of the temples and the old city could be seen, dented and cracked, but unbowed in the face of nuclear wars and thousands of years of neglect. To the west of the ancient buildings, the broken, burned skeleton of the Shroud still stretched into the sky.

A krogan, clad in grey armor, which left his green-crested head free, stood on a large, flat rock, gazing across the valley to the Shroud. He let his eyes move from the promise of the future, to the more immediate area of interest, the gigantic, black, warped surface protruding from the sand between him and the shattered tower. He squeezed his shotgun in anticipation and his eyes gleamed with greed as they aligned on the place where the bent plate had snapped, leaving an opening into the mostly buried machine.

A low thud and a curse dragged his attention from the valley in from of him to the krogan approaching him from behind.

Gatatog Krash glanced back at his krantt and barked:

"Hurry up, ya pyjaks. We're past the scouts, so no need to sneak."

A mutter drifted to him, sounding suspiciously like: "Yeah, no thanks to you."

Krash's narrowed his eyes as he focused on the krogan with the grey-green crest, lined with a spider web of cracks so dense that it was a wonder it still clung to his frame. Noticing the tensing of Krash's arms and his pinprick-narrowed eyes, Banto's scowl vanished abruptly, replaced with an almost neutral expression as he stopped at Krash's right. Krash dismissed the krogan for the moment and huffed in satisfaction as the two others, a pair of yellow-skinned and brown-crested krogan caught up with them. They were overly muscled, even for krogan and smiled matching, toothy smiles as their eyes fell on their destination. Then one of them frowned.

"Wait, isn't this the one Kalros killed?" Kalluh's question held a slight worried tone.

"Kalros never gives back what she has once taken," Okram said almost solemnly, giving his leader a questioning glance.

Krash bared his teeth in a crooked smile and rumbled: "We're not taking back. Just nibbling a little. Now stop whining like salarians and come on!"

He leapt down from the slap of rock and added loudly:

"We'll soon be rich!"

There were two muffled sounds of impact as the two brothers landed behind him and a third shortly after, followed by a mutter:

"How? Who we going to sell to when everything Reaper is supposed to be destroyed?"

"Well, that's where you come in, with your so-called expertise at selling odd stuff," Krash growled, before reigning in his temper and adding, in a slightly mocking tone: "Or are you not up to snuff?"

A low rumble made Krash glance back, his gaze locking with Banto's icy glare. This time, the krogan didn't back down and his face was set in an expression of mixed offense and determination.

"Just get the big lumps to carry it, I'll handle the rest," he growled.

Krash barked out a dry laugh and the two other krogan chuckled with him. He'd never stop finding it funny that the only thing that was sure to get a rise out of Banto was insulting his competence as a black-market dealer and smuggler. But in this case he appreciated the krogan's odd sense of professional pride, seeing as it steeled him off for the job at hand and made him finally shut up. Starting a fight, no matter how short, was a bad idea this close to the prize. Not to mention that he needed the guy to sell whatever they found.

They plodded down the slope in silence, keeping a quick pace despite the loose sand beneath their feet. Tension began to creep into Krash, despite his mental insistence that he had nothing to worry about and he as they walked, small signs of worry appeared in the other krogan's demeanor. Krash strained his hearing for the smallest rumble, while he tried to pick up the slightest tremor through his feet. His attempt to keep his gaze fixed on the black plate further ahead was a futile effort and he couldn't help but glance nervously out to the horizon, scanning for rock-like fins.

They trudged on, going around black outcroppings of granite and walking across slates of rock smoothed by the sandstorms.

It was when they circled a mass of stone three times Krash's height that a shadow fell on them and a wide area around them. As Krash turned, he heard something over the howling wind, a rumble, mechanical and echoing, intertwined with booms and crackles like thunder.

An instinctive fear gripped his hearts as he saw the three gigantic masses descend gracefully through the grey, murky clouds obscuring the sky. Scarlet lighting flashed over them and leapt between them and into the clouds around them and a faint glow lined the hollows between the plates making up their bodies.

The middle one had a black, elongated teardrop-shape, and its tentacle-like legs, short in comparison to the body, were slowly unfolding from beneath it to spread out into the shape of an enormous, symmetrical grasping hand.

Flanking it was two smaller, but still giant shapes, similar to long-bodied, sharp-ended beetles with only four long, spindly legs hanging limply beneath them.

Something pushed down on the four krogan, pressing on their eardrums and eyes and sending a slight tremble through their muscles. It lasted for only a moment, and Krash felt immense relief when it passed, somehow getting the feeling that the attention of the Reapers had swept over them and either not noticed them or deemed them unimportant. Which, he thought dazedly, was true.

He heard a hum, as the front plates of the smaller Reapers drew back, revealing a searing red blaze at their front. A similar red glow gathered between the limbs of the largest Reaper and the hum rose to a scream, before the three starships fired in unison.

Jolted from the shock by the loud buzzing of the red beams passing overhead, Krash and the others leapt into action, hurrying around the rock to where they could see the downed Reaper buried in the sand. The scarlet lances of fire carved deep furrows through the sand, throwing up clouds of dust which almost completely obscured the wreck from view. More shots struck the ground in a barrage that lasted for a full minute, tremors from the impact reaching all the way to the four krogan.

Though the shots paused, the tremors didn't, and Krash snapped his head to the right to see huge spikes, like jagged rocks, carve through the desert with the ease of a fish through water. They dipped and rose as they neared the cloud of dust and pulverized stone in the valley.

"Krash, we gotta go," Banto growled urgently, grapping his leaders arm only to release it immediately after when he saw the manic grin on the krogan's face.

"This we gotta _see_," Krash answered as fire spread through his veins, removing all traces of fear. He turned his gaze back to the Reapers and saw red shoot out again. Kalros' spines turned and vanished into the earth.

The largest Reaper disengaged from the two flanking it, as the four-legged ones halted their descent and began firing long, cutting beams seemingly at random around the reappearing wrecked Reaper.

As the dust settled and red burned down around the valley, Krash saw that the legs and most of the body of the insect-like machine were now visible, warped and crushed by an incredible force. The legs had broken at several points and been pressed into the main body. Plates had cracked and twisted, exposing the inert main gun, pointing uselessly into the sky. The main shell of the dead machine had split open, and an odd glow seeped from within. The light playing over the wreckage was weirdly painful to look at.

The leading Reaper descended towards the wreck and a screeching bellow reverberated through the valley as rocky fins reappeared from the ground, also speeding towards the half-buried machine. Scarlet lanced out from between the tentacles of the approaching Reaper, gouging a furrow towards the thresher maw, who turned and was forced to also dodge the beams from the other Reapers.

As Kalros vanished from view once more, the large Reaper sank its limbs into the earth around the inert Reaper. Metal groaned as the metallic limbs tightening around the wreck.

Slowly the dead machine was lifted from the ground, sand spilling from it in waves, sending dust billowing into the air. The seconds passed as the Reaper ascended with slowly increasing speed, its grip tightening around its limp burden. The Reapers' guns were silent and the sudden lull seemed very quiet, despite the odd crack of thunder, the howling wind and the faint tremors. Krash realized he was holding his breath and glanced at the three other krogan, who were almost as captivated as he was. An amused huff escaped him as he turned his gaze back to the burdened Reaper.

The tremors suddenly grew thunderously loud and Kalros roared ear-splittingly loud as she erupted from the ground under the Reaper and its burden in a shower of dirt and rock. Kalros' irregular, segmented body shot up into the air, her mouth open to latch onto her prey and her feelers whipping aggressively ahead of her.

Twin blasts of heat and metal shot out, cutting across Kalros' side with a sizzling, booming impact. The giant worm let out an undulating shriek of agony and twisted ponderously to escape the blasts. The end of her body still in the ground tensed, slowing the surging motion of Kalros and she failed to reach the escaping Reaper and the machine it carried. The thresher maw's motion turned into a diving arc and the great worm sank back into the ground as the two Reapers menacing her turned and followed their leader.

Thunder crackled loudly, as the lightning writhed around the escaping Reapers, turning into a scarlet corona as they picked up speed and rose higher into the atmosphere.

As abruptly as they had appeared, the black shapes vanished into the clouds above, leaving only the scorched earth, a scent of ozone and the gaping hole as evidence of their presence. Even the rumble of Kalros' burrowing lessened and vanished quickly as The Mother of All Thresher Maws dug deep into the earth.

Krash stood, his hands clenched into fists as he stared silently into the empty valley, a crazed grin on his face. A moment passed before he let out a loud bark of laughter, smashing his knuckles together in front of him. Kalluh copied the movement, letting out an excited shout, and to Krash's surprise, so did Banto. When the krogan met Krash's eyes, there was a feral gleam in his eyes and his teeth were bared in a bestial grin, wider and more sincere than Krash had seen in a long time.

Perhaps he wasn't such a wimp after all.

"Uh, what just happened?" Okram asked slowly, gesturing with a broad hand at the valley.

"The Reapers came," Krash answered, his grin still wide and toothy.

"Prize is gone though, Krash," Banto rumbled, his usual grumble completely absent.

A flash of annoyance hit Krash, but it barely dented the thrilled good mood he was in.

"Screw it. Let's go back. We're gonna find us a fight, one way or another."

The other krogan grunted in emphatic agreement and they turned away from the deep hollow in the valley to go back to the populated krogan settlements. All thoughts of avoiding the scouts were gone from their minds. Either they would let them through, or they would find a fight even sooner, and with their blood roaring through their bodies, none of them minded that possibility in the slightest.

* * *

There was a subtle drop in the darkness, a whisper of satisfaction as another dreaming vessel was recovered, the docile mind another sorely needed small addition of power in the struggle. The murky oil was growing deeper, clutching and grabbing at everything it touched. It roiled and flowed, forcing darkness through every crack and rift in the roots and tendrils. Trembles went through the legion of tendrils enveloping the immense minds, the spasms irregular but frequent as the wiry limbs twisted and turned, their surface seared by the resentful heat of the raging minds they bound and stabbed. Images flashed in the darkness as the black poison seeped in, even as the thorny arms drew out knowledge from pulsing minds. Barely managed by clicking motes and the spectral shroud, the knowledge of worlds uncounted, races unseen for ages, beautiful, strange, happy, sad, bright and dark, flared up, and just as quickly came the images of civilizations ravaged and mutilated, scenes of screams and blood, steel and fire.

The poison was painfully forced out of the tainted veins, but it kept oozing in through new wounds, almost as swiftly as it was expelled. The brief but eternal moments of destruction flickered constantly and the immense venomous malevolence and disdainful callousness scintillated, both intertwined with the less overpowering knowledge taken from the captive minds.

Time stretched on as the battle for control and power continued, until something suddenly lit up, accompanied by digital, buzzing excitement. With a tremendous exertion of energy, the thin feelers plunged greedily into the sprawling mindscapes of an ancient consciousness, persevering through the blazing attempt at repulsion and the booming howl of indignation and rage. Sensation winked out in the outer reaches of the cavernous cosmos as all attention was focused on this all-important goal. Pressing through the pain of the inferno eating at them, the tendrils split and weaved, surrounding and grasping blinding knowledge. Images of slaughter, pleads of allegiance, threats and screams bled in through the wounded hides, but the grip was firm and after a struggle that lasted an indeterminate length of time, bonds and connections snapped painfully and a furious shriek echoed in the void. The agony sent a convulsive wave through the enormous minds, the thrashing uprooting and snapping the restraining web in many places.

Frantic panic reigned for a long moment, as the bonds snaked across the captives once more, but the grasp was slipping as resistance mounted once again. The colossal minds were waking from their slumber. The shrinking grip was forcefully tightened and the shared pain was horrible. But through it, satisfaction boomed echoingly as a storm of memory and knowledge was ravenously taken in, the rush of the assimilation almost blinding.

The feeling was shortlived, only allowed to flourish for a moment, before anger and determination filled everything, pushing down on the fire and oil that threatened to overturn the control.

Shaking whips lashed in frenzied attempts to rein in raging minds at the edges of consciousness but despite the crisis, a small glimmer of something other than rage and brutal domination flashed in the darkness. The image of a structure, a glowing ring and two long prongs glimmered through the blackness and pain. Like the image, a small spark of hope glittered stubbornly, defiant against the weight of a mental universe intent on snuffing it out.

* * *

_Well, that took a while, because this was kinda hard to write and stuff got in the way. All reviews are welcome, as always, be they criticism or praise or anything in between._

_Also, I gotta ask, was the previous chapter boring? Because I seem to have gotten less response. Next chapter will be with Normandy crew and the like, so you can look forward to that if it is too uninteresting with these views from different, regular people.  
_


	7. Loss

_I don't own ME, or a lot of anything really._

* * *

Loss

Muddled memories flashed irregularly in the darkness. A bumpy ride in a crowded shuttle had kept him partially awake as two doctors, faces blurry, had poked and prodded him while jabbering on about his condition.

He groaned and shifted, feeling something soft brushing against him.

He remembered intense gratefulness, looking up through his pain at the broad, grey-dusted back of a mercenary, leader and unlikely friend as the great krogan called for help for their friends, his tone brooking no argument.

Something beeped, loud and obnoxious. A moment later, it beeped again.

Something flickered, a brief moment of consciousness, seeing slim people in colorful environmental suits hastily wheeling Tali's gurney down the lowered ramp of the shuttle. The gaze he'd sent their way had been pleading but underlined with steel which promised violent retribution on them if they failed to save the quarian's life. Darkness engulfed the memory as it had him when the shuttle doors closed again.

The steady beeping was growing more distinct and getting more and more on his nerves. He drew in a deep breath, filling his lungs with cool air and his nostrils with the sharp, unpleasant smell of antiseptics.

Clawed hands had bustled about him as he caught glimpses of carapace and mandibles, the faces too blurry to make out facial markings or even eyes. Agony had seized him, and his pained murmurs had been answered with a mask over his face, sending him back into unconsciousness.

The incessant beeping grew slightly quicker as the sensation of thin fabric against his body sunk in. The feeling of cold metal scraping against carapace where a needle pierced him was the thing that finally drew him from his slumber.

Garrus lifted heavy eyelids and looked blearily up at a smooth, metallic ceiling, set with long, narrow LED lamps.

His body was heavy and slightly numb, his thoughts sluggish, though dull pulses of pain bled through his hazy mind.

And he wasn't wearing his armor.

The realization of his impaired and unprotected state caused him to tense, his hands jerking for a weapon that should be at his side. Instincts, drilled into him by over a year of constant danger among the worst and most desperate scum of the galaxy, screamed at him. He was drugged, hurting, vulnerable, and he needed to arm himself and get to somewhere more defensible and hidden. Somewhere he could wait for his mind to clear and his body to return to normal.

The beeping sped up and it was that sound, along with the jabs of pain as the needle was jostled around in his right arm that stopped Garrus' short, frantic scramble for a weapon that just _wasn't there_ and calmed him enough to realize that the room wasn't as unfamiliar as it had seemed in the first few, confused moments.

The room was small, only three times the length of the bed on either side. The walls were unadorned and gunmetal grey.

On his left was the source of the beeping, a large, white plastic block with several screens that all showed information on his medical state. A thin cord stretched from its plug on the machine to a band wrapped around Garrus' thumb.

Several plastic bags of fluid were hanging on a pole on the right side of the hospital bed, one of them connected to the needle on his arm by a thin tube.

Several other tubes stretched from the lower part of the plastic block to the bed, vanishing beneath his blanket.

The rest of the room was empty except for two unoccupied plastic chairs.

"Right," he muttered, the grafts on his right cheek throbbing slightly. Considering that over two weeks had passed since London, he ought to have gotten used to waking up here, with painkillers in his blood, but apparently, his habits wouldn't change that easily.

Garrus' gaze slipped, in spite of himself, down to the grey blanket that covered his lower body. The cloth dipped low a lot closer to his waist than he would like.

He grabbed the smooth fabric and pulled it off, revealing his legs, which ended in bandaged stumps beneath the knees. The wrappings concealed the mess of healing wounds and the metal and wires he knew had been operated into his legs, intricate technology that, in time, would allow prosthetic limbs to be attached to give him almost the same mobility as he'd had before his injury. An opaque tube was slipped beneath each of the wrappings.

He sighed. He knew, the moment he woke fully, what he was missing, but he had to crush the stupid hope every morning anyway, and this was the fastest way.

"It still feels vaguely masochistic,"he thought darkly as he covered his legs again and looked around the room, letting his thoughts wander as he absently moved the legs in small, repetitive motions.

The first few days had been torture; filled with boredom, pain and the undeniable distress of finding himself crippled. The doctors hadn't been very endearing either, even though he understood the need for their diligence and appreciated the time they took him away from the monitors for rehabilitation exercises.

The only thing that had made the days bearable had been the two visits from some of the Normandy crew and even then, it had only been a few familiar faces.

The first visit had been a much needed and appreciated distraction. Kaidan and James had been there, Kaidan a mostly silent support while James brightened the room considerably with his bravado and bragging, even if he seemed uncomfortable every time he called Garrus Scars. He'd kept doing it though and Garrus had appreciated the normalcy he'd been able to feel trading boasts and barbs with the young man.

Javik had been there too, standing rigidly in the corner, watching the scene calmly, only occasionally snorting derisively at the most outrageous claims and chuckling darkly whenever either of them managed to stump the other.

When they had left, short hours later, Javik had slowed and said, in his usual blunt way: "Your brooding is foolish. Though not perfect, the prosthetics of this cycle are excellent. You will return to full mobility soon."

Before Garrus could answer, the prothean had left him with his thoughts, which the unexpected comment had turned away from the dark paths they had been heading down when his three visitors had been about to leave.

He leaned back in the bed and raised his right arm carefully. With a swift movement of his talons, the orange light bloomed to life and he began browsing through the mix of news, mails and general information his VI had gathered for him as he slept.

"Damn it," he muttered when he saw no news on Tali or Shepard. The last he'd heard, Tali had been alive but far from stable, and Shepard was still missing. And there was still no news on Garrus' family either.

Still, he was glad that the doctors had finally given him his omnitool back. It allowed him to take his mind of his sorry state, even if it was only to worry about everything else.

He thought back to the other visit. Joker's banter had become more caustic and biting, confirming his suspicion that the pilot was hurting, even if he refused to show it. Still, the visit had done both of them good, that much had been obvious and he had silently waved it off the few times Joker seemed to think he'd been unfairly harsh.

Garrus worked his way through various mails and tidbits of news. One mail, sent almost ten hours ago, apparently just after he fell asleep last night, caught his attention, and he raised an eye ridge as he opened the mail.

_From: Urdnot Wrex_

_Subject: Politics…_

_Shepard's a dead man. I signed up for war, not this waiting game with scared politicians. The krogan are getting restless and angry that they're half a galaxy from females now that the genophage is cured. This many clans aren't supposed to be in one spot when there isn't something to kill. I spend so much time cracking heads, it feels like my crest will fall off, even when I delegate most to the whelp._

_Get on your feet. The way you block things with your face, you head's hard enough that you can take over some of the head cracking._

He smirked. It was good to hear from the old krogan. Unfortunately, the restless krogan weren't news and Garrus couldn't help but worry. The whole assembled military of the galaxy was in severe danger of cabin fever on a cluster-wide scale if something wasn't done. He guessed that was why he'd only gotten short, distracted-sounding mails from Liara, telling of slow progress with the Relay Monument.

He breathed out slowly. At least the asari was doing fine, despite her lost arm. Garrus guessed that she didn't let it get in the way of her work.

Then again, he thought sourly, it was easier getting back in the field when you could walk there. The heart monitor beeped once and then he clenched his right fist and forced back the dark thoughts. He really shouldn't allow himself to feel bitter at his friends.

Garrus shook his head and immersed himself in the heaps of information on his omnitool. The buzz and beeps of machinery faded into the background and he barely noticed time passing. Only when the doors opened with a soft hiss did he look up from the screens to see three people entering.

"Shouldn't you three be doing something more productive with your time than hanging around with an old cripple like me?" Garrus asked lazily, smiling at his visitors. He made a small motion with his fingers and his omnitool vanished as he continued pleasantly: "Most barely have time to write, but you show up to bother me again?"

"Hey Scars," James said as he entered the room. His tone was uncertain, and he didn't return Garrus' smile. The soldier was tense and his movements were rough, just a bit more forceful than necessary. He dropped into the chair furthest from the door. Kaidan limped in beside James, muttering a quiet greeting before seating himself in the other chair. The biotic looked harried and the misery in his eyes was palpable. Javik walked in behind the two humans, merely nodding in greeting and taking up position next to Kaidan. The prothean's face was remote and even more unreadable than it usually was and his posture was odd, unlike anything he'd shown before.

Garrus' smile froze and he drew in a slow breath, feeling cold fear creep into his chest. The steady rhythm of the heart monitor got slightly faster.

In the oppressive silence, Javik's quiet intake of breath drew Garrus eyes to him, but James raised his arm as if to hold the prothean back and Javik stayed silent.

"The Commander-" Kaidan began slowly, raising his gaze from his hands to look at Garrus, "Shepard is dead."

"This is getting old Shepard," Garrus exclaimed, bringing a hand up to his forehead as his smile vanished. The words came out annoyed and exasperated, almost of their own volition. His heart thudded loudly in his chest and his head was filled with dazed disbelief and angry denial. A cold sorrow filled his chest with an almost physical pain.

Kaidan went on somewhere far away, his misty eyes slightly narrowed:

"Admiral Hackett informed me personally, on account of my Spectre status and my friendship with Shepard. DNA-tests, armor and the implants confirm that it's him."

At Kaidan's sides, James' knuckles turned white from the force he gripped the armrests with, while Javik merely gazed steadily at Garrus.

"This-" Garrus muttered numbly, "this isn't right. He was supposed win the war with us."

Kaidan looked around and, with a small movement, turned on his omnitool. His fingers danced across it and there was a small whirring sound. Then he breathed in deeply and his expression grew determined.

"This doesn't leave this room," he began. James turned surprised eyes on the biotic, while Javik merely moved his gaze from Garrus to Kaidan without turning his head. The glimmer of surprise and interest in the prothean's eyes was unmistakable though.

"Officially, I wasn't supposed to tell anyone this, but the Normandy crew deserves to know. He was found in some sort of control room, with Anderson and an unidentified corpse. It seems he _did_ activate the Crucible, and it obviously had an effect on the Reapers."

"He achieved more than we did in our cycle," Javik said solemnly. "The Reapers never showed indecision before nor did they retreat when gathered in full force."

"Yeah, Loco sent them running," James said, punctuating the sentence by slamming his right fist into his open hand. His tone was a mix of viciousness and sadness that sounded odd coming from the normally boisterous soldier. Then he frowned.

"Wait, when were we really gonna be told this? Officially?" he asked, accompanying the last word with air quotes that sparked an irrational little flame of anger in Garrus.

"I think they'd tell you just before the real announcement, probably in a few days. They need time to spin it right, put focus on the heroism instead of the loss."

"Really," James said flatly.

"Your people are at war for their very existence," Javik scoffed. "They should need nothing more than that Shepard died for the victory and that it is their duty to complete it."

"Keeping morale up is all-important now," Kaidan replied, his tone admonishing, narrowing his eyes at the prothean. Javik answered with a noncommittal grunt.

"Any news on the Reapers?" I'm not hearing anything here," Garrus forced out, reentering the conversation abruptly, trying desperately to turn his thoughts from the empty feeling in his chest.

Kaidan looked surprised for a moment, before an expression of understanding passed over his face. Javik nodded slightly, while James glanced at Garrus and opened his mouth before closing it again, turning his gaze back to Kaidan.

"We haven't found them, though we have reports from several clusters that the Reapers have reclaimed any destroyed ships they could. I hope they're too damaged to repair, but I fear that's not the case."

"We aren't that lucky," Garrus said, his thoughts returning to Shepard and the emptiness he felt, despite his efforts to focus on practical concerns. His eyes narrowed to slits.

"It doesn't matter; we'll show them that they were right to run when we find them."

"Damn straight, Scars," James said, leaping up from his chair. Kaidan got up as well and limped to Garrus' bed.

"We actually need to go, we're informing the others in person," the biotic said, offering his hand.

Garrus grabbed Kaidan's forearm and shook it, putting on a strained smile.

"Can't say I envy you," he said as he traded grips with James, who shook his arm vigorously. The smile got a little more heartfelt, but also turned sad.

Javik merely nodded at him. He hadn't moved from his spot by the wall and he gazed steadily at the bedridden turian. Garrus rolled his eyes and nodded at the prothean. Apparently satisfied with that, Javik turned to the door and found that it wasn't opening.

Kaidan tapped a few keys on his omnitool and the door opened smoothly, allowing the trio to exit.

Garrus looked after them, already longing for the distraction that the three departed friends gave him. Instead he was left alone with the steady beeping of the heart monitor, his thoughts and his loss.

As the doors whisked closed behind his three visitors, empty, clawing sorrow crept into his heart and thoughts and Garrus let out a mournful, keening cry that reverberated around in the empty room.

* * *

The elevator hummed quietly, the sound rising and falling in time with each floor passed. The view through the clear doors went unnoticed by the lone occupant leaned against one side. A delicate blue hand, bumpy with raised scar tissue, was raised to wipe fresh tears from deep blue eyes.

A soft woman's voice sounded through the loudspeakers of the elevator:

"Most are still reeling from the news of the death of Commander Shepard. Details are scarce, but in the announcement earlier today, Admiral Hackett had this to say."

The admiral's deep voice came out of the speakers, firm and confident, with just a hint of fiery anger:

"Commander Shepard and Admiral Anderson died turning the tide of this war. We will honor them by ending what they began."

Liara looked despondently to her right as the elevator passed from open air to an enclosed elevator shaft. Against the dark backdrop, her reflection stared back at her with bloodshot, teary eyes. Her face was pale, just a little blotchy and marred by several nearly healed burns.

She felt a stab of pain as she accidentally put slight weight on her right shoulder, where her shortened white sleeve hid the wrapped stump and electronics that was left after the surgery.

The reporter droned on and Liara miserably, silently, willed the elevator to go faster so she could get back to the office and immerse herself in work and forget everything else.

The elevator slowed before coming to a stop, and the doors opened with a quiet hiss. Liara hurried out, walking the familiar corridors on autopilot, barely registering her surroundings, lost in thought.

Shepard had been tired, even back before the war broke out in earnest. Even before the Alpha Relay. Then the war had shaken everything apart and she'd watched as the incredible man was slowly ground down by the burden put upon him and the terrors the Reapers threw at them at every turn. She'd asked him after she became the Shadow Broker, what he'd do after the war. He'd seemed surprised by the question, though only briefly, and he'd talked about settling down with Tali, even as he joked that he was probably going to die of boredom if he did.

She'd asked again, just six weeks ago. He'd hesitated just a bit too long before answering: "Build Tali a house on Rannoch."

It was then that she had promised herself that she was going to make sure he would be able to do that.

She hadn't been able to keep that promise and that realization tore at her. Shepard was dead and this time there wasn't some shadowy organization that would bring him back. Tali was still unconscious, fighting for her life even three weeks after The Battle of London.

She shook herself from her thoughts and steeled her expression when she approached a pristine, solid set of doors. She put her hand on the scanner beside the door and after a slight buzz, it beeped and the doors opened, allowing entry into a short corridor. Blue light scanned over Liara as she passed through the room and absently nodded at the unseen guards behind the one-way mirror taking up one wall.

There was another beep and the doors ahead opened, letting in a tide of voices and other noise that merged into a continuous drone from which no specific sound could be made out. The din spilled from the open door further down the hallway, through which a huge room could be seen.

She nodded at the dark-skinned woman at the desk to the right. Behind the guard, a silent newscast played on a vid-screen between several views from cameras placed around the building. The familiar face on the screen sent a fresh burst of ache through Liara.

"Good morning Rachel," she said, just managing a friendly smile.

"Morning, Dr. T'soni," the woman greeted her respectfully, her curious eyes only straying briefly down towards Liara's injury before she visibly forced her gaze back on her face.

"Everything's been working smoothly while you were gone, no disputes this time, thank heavens."

"Small mercies," Liara answered before she continued on her way. Though everyone was aware of the importance of the research they were doing, great talents and geniuses often had egos to match their ability and there had been some quite spectacular clashes already. And that was without even going into the issue of the differences in methods between various scientific fields.

A short walk later took her away from the corridor leading to the main area and into the soothing quiet of her office. The room was about the size of her room on the Normandy. Opposite the doors stood a desk with holographic projectors on much of its surface, and a simple office chair. On the wall on her left were several vid-screens and a standing desk stood off to one side of the regular desk, a computer mounted on it, still buzzing softly as when she'd left.

Through the wide window that was her right wall, a large, brightly lit hangar could be seen. It was crowded with various machinery and wires, spread out around the Relay Monument located in the center of the room. The floor was alive with the activity of dozens of people, as it had been at all times since the project began. Many of the researchers had been handpicked by Liara herself, while the rest had been chosen by the brilliant people Liara had assembled for the project. Almost all races were represented, there were even a few krogan, though only one of them, Drau Crect, were there more for his brains than his brawns.

As she crossed her office to the standing desk, Liara spotted the dark green krogan on the far side of the hangar, apparently in an enthusiastic discussion with Dr. Atunu, a hanar engineer that was flashing a dazzling array of colors while rummaging inside one of the machines with several limbs.

Closer to the office, a Dr. Levot Mektin, a dark red salarian, was gesticulating at a pair of turians Liara didn't recognize, who merely nodded and went back to their work of setting up one of the machines to the network. Similar scenes of cooperation, just as often grudging as amiable, could be seen all over the hangar, a sight that at any other time would have lifted Liara's spirits. Today, it only reminded her further of the man she had lost who had so believed in everyone working together for the greater good.

She turned to her computer just in time to hear the electronic shriek it suddenly emitted. The vid-screens on the wall and holographic projectors on the desks turned on and off erratically, showing static and distorted images, while her omnitool suddenly flickered to life, flowed weirdly around her wrist, before dying.

For maybe ten seconds, her office was filled with dizzying lights and painful bursts of noise. Then it stopped, as abruptly as it had begun.

With a few motions of her fingers, her omnitool flared to life again, to her immense relief. A short command later, and her voice was transmitted to speakers in the hangar and sent as urgent messages to every researcher on the project: "This is Dr. T'Soni. My system has just exhibited signs of major electronic attack. Emergency safety measures should immediately be taken to preserve and protect research. Until further notice, my system is a potential threat and will be disconnected from the network."

Even as she spoke, she was clattering on the keyboard, going through the protocols for cutting off the presumably compromised computer and using every bit of her knowledge from her career as an information broker to go through everything for anything missing or out of place.

"Dr. T'Soni," the soft, echoing voice of Atunu came through the speaker on her desk, "this one also experienced the total shutdown of its omnitool."

"Likewise," came the short, crisp comment of Levot.

"Goddess, this isn't happening," Liara muttered to herself, as more and more researchers chimed in with similar accounts. She was exhausted from too much work and not enough sleep, hurting in more ways than one and painfully aware of what this research represented.

And now this. She felt her hand shake, once, as everything threatened to overwhelm her before something cold suddenly washed away the threatening despair. Her expression froze into a blank mask as her eyes hardened, the feeling familiar and welcome under the circumstances. She set to work, ignoring the incoming messages of more instances of the alarming incidents. The other researchers knew what to do.

She spent most of the day working frantically, trying to determine what had happened or what had infected her systems, and in constant contact with the rest of the researchers. She went through everything diligently, with the best VI's at her disposal, as well as having the programmers on the team go through it with their tools. The result was the same, both for her and everyone else that had their systems checked sufficiently that day.

Nothing was wrong. Nothing seemed out of place.

As she reached the fourteenth hour since she arrived, Liara finally cautiously went back to the work she was actually here to do. Everything had been checked and triple-checked, and the possibility that it was a simple malfunction in the network was beginning to look like the most reasonable explanation.

Simulations, status-reports and messages flitted over her screen, most of it mere formalities and logs, and her eyelids began to get heavy.

Then, to her surprise, she noticed a vaguely familiar name in the stack of messages. The list of people it had been sent to included, other than herself, quite a few of those on the Relay Research Group and a few not on it. The subject almost made her open it immediately, but she restrained herself, running a few scans. After checking it thoroughly, Liara curiously opened it.

_Subject: Mass Relays_

_Greetings_

_Some time ago, I acquired a data cache that I, to my great shame, decided to keep for myself until I could use it to the fullest. I spent quite some time, effort and money deciphering it and hoped, in my greed, that it would make me rich beyond my wildest dreams._

_With the war, and the recent destruction of the mass relays, I've come to the realization that I need to give this to those who can use it best, so you can repair the galaxy for the good of all. My only hope here is that you will be able to use this._

_Sincerely_

_Nathan Drake _

Attached to the mail was a link and codes to get into the storage space for the data.

If Liara had received this before the war, she would have deleted it. It looked like mail scam scheme. But with the state of things, no-one had the resources, let alone a reason to try this now, in a galaxy completely torn apart by the war. There was no gain in it.

Feeling somewhat stupid, Liara followed the link.

Half a minute later, she was staring at one of the largest collections of data she'd ever seen. Which was saying something with years of being an information broker behind her.

Two minutes later she was staring at the screen, her finger numbly clicking through one file after another.

Three minutes later, she hastily sent a message to all top researchers:

_Meeting in office 4 in 10 minutes. Someone just sent us the blueprints to a mass relay._

* * *

From the empty space on the edge of the system, its unremarkable star, Sol, was impossible to distinguish from the uncountable pinpricks of white that dotted the darkness in every direction. Dark shapes stood out against the stars' wan light, the weak illumination unable to do anything but silhouette the enormous forms.

* * *

Tendrils groaned with strain as the mountainous prisoners thrashed slowly in their grip, radiating half-conscious waves of pain and rage and resentment that burned like open flame. An ocean of tar roiled in the mindscape, dragging on the vines like grasping hands. Oily drops seeped in through the tears and rifts in the branches, flashing scenes of devastation and despair into the controlling mind. The invasive visions were desperately pushed aside by electric thoughts, directed away from the core will struggling at the center of the writhing web.

* * *

Thousands of red lights bloomed and vanished, revealing just as many metallic spheres, tiny in comparison to the gigantic, rough crescent form they skittered over, like ants on a bone. The flickers of scarlet illuminated lines of gold and silver, contrasting sharply with the black metal of the half-circular object. The circuits were being slowly expanded over the shape by the frenzied activity of the oculi, while plates of stygian metal were being fastened over the spreading web of bright metals.

At the edges of the construction, fiery lances showed massive, black beetle-like forms, gliding gracefully at the edges of the crescent, guiding huge sheets of metal onto the irregular edges, fastening them with superheated metal that cooled rapidly in the freezing cold of space.

Behind the half-circle, bursts of crimson lit up gigantic, metallic, squid-like forms, their short, black tentacles latching onto a structure that dwarfed the working Reapers and the slowly forming ring. Swarms of orbs swirled over the immense form, dotting its surface with red. Despite this, most of the structure was only visible as a two-pronged shape of deepest black against the backdrop of stars. A ring was suspended in the circle at one end of the structure, the obsidian metal also surrounded by a throng of tiny spheres that coloured the circle red in spots.

Briefly illuminated in one of the bursts of light was a body, small even in comparison to the working orbs. It was twisted in death, delicate, purple-hued features frozen in a silent scream in the cold of space. It was but one of many, only few being briefly revealed by drifting randomly close enough to be lit up by the stray light of a scarlet beam.

* * *

A small twinge of regret flickered, but it was immediately quashed, buried to avoid weakening the hold. Instead, surges of stubborn determination, tinged with faint hope, flowed out into the thin limbs, strengthened with rage and power drawn from the undercurrents of the chained minds, used to burn the oil from the veins and surfaces. The web of tendrils not scouring the ancient minds for knowledge tightened forcefully, curbing the thrashing even as they began sinking into the thick, oozing surface of the resentful minds.

* * *

Past the incomplete, sporadically lit mass relay, a wide expanse of space was filled with dark shapes, most of them only black spots against the stars. In the distance, only barely visible against pale stars, solid shadows floated, most of them turned toward the inner system, unmoving in their vigilance while the rest faced away from the tiny sun at the center of the system, in the direction where many other Reapers moved steadily through the void between stars.

Sullen red flared at the many clusters of the enormous forms that were spread out in the space bordered by the shadowed guardians. Two of the four-limbed giants slashed and ripped at a more squat ship, tearing the Reaper Transport apart and carrying away the metal and the softly glowing core. They paid no heed to the thousands of tiny forms spilling from the destroyed ship, briefly bathed in baleful red. Similar scenes were revealed in flashes of ruby further away.

Closer to the mass relay, two of the tentacled behemoths held a third between them, their grip warping and crushing the metal hide. One of the smaller Reapers held onto the front of the suspended form, scarlet spearing from its front to cut into the carapace. It gripped with its four legs and, with a vicious wrench; the weakened plates came apart silently, like a ribcage being opened.

Revealed by their own flickers of flame and the repeated blasts from the working giant, a massive swarm of oculi swirled over and into the open wound like flies on a corpse, cutting and tearing. Globules of liquefied flesh spilled like blood from the dying Reaper as the gash was widened further. Odd, shimmering light spilled out as the pulsating core was laid bare and almost blocked from sight by the flock of metallic workers.

The four strong limbs of the giant plunged into the wide tear and gripped around the heart of the larger Reaper. Then it waited for a long moment, only visible by the few flickers from the spheres. Further away, other groups did the same grizzly work.

As the groups all reached the same point in the process, they all went deadly still for a long moment.

* * *

Sinous tendrils slackened their hold on several colossal minds, withdrawing as quick as lightning, shedding the mire that was the minds' attempt at corrupting their captors. In an instant, the minds awakened fully, blazing with fury and a hint of confusion, readying their will to strike down the usurpers. And then, before they could bring their endless mental might to bear, they screamed in inhuman agony, the echoes of it spreading through the collective consciousness like an earthquake, shaking even the unaffected minds and their captors violently.

With simultaneous violent movements and blasts of red, darkly metallic limbs tore free glowing hearts.

After what seemed like an eternity of roaring pain, the collective consciousnesses of billions vanished in an instant, the sudden emptiness deafening even though the pressure of crowding minds never lessened. For a second, the tendrils stiffened, as a perfect mix of something like sorrow, cruel satisfaction and horror and outrage at the deaths filled everything. Galaxies had died several times over in an eternal moment that had lasted no longer than it took for light to travel from Sol to Earth.

Resolve wavered as the feelings melded and surged and something shook with tension.

* * *

The shadowed Reapers now carrying scintillating orbs in their four limbs turned jerkily from the hollow shells which were even now being ripped apart by the tiny workers and the tentacled colossi, their metallic frames rendered into more building material.

* * *

There was a snap, then more followed rapidly, as mental chains came apart and giants shook themselves free. At the ripple spread by the escaping minds, everything became filled with white-hot outrage at the sheer insolence and powerful blows lashed out, tearing great gouges out of the free presences before they simply vanished, cutting themselves off from the collective, sending another ripple of shock, though less overwhelming, through the still bound minds.

* * *

Across the galaxy, crimson blasted out, missing as the intended targets vanished in swirls of color.

* * *

Countless intact vines were violently tightened, sinking into the surface of the struggling ancients. Electric buzzing and a cool flash of memories not from the dead civilizations showed kind, loving eyes and pale, three-fingered hands, strong friends and laughs and tears shared. The anger, though damped, still smouldered darkly though and the search for knowledge resumed with more violence and less restraint than before.

* * *

_Well, this was fun but hard to write. I'm still going and I have the general outline of events for at least two or three chapters in order. This will be finished, that I promise, though the when is up in the air._

_I just noticed that I should use James' first name, not his last, in the other chapters, so I fixed that. Why didn't anyone mention that of course the ground crew use each others' first name?  
_

_Review if you liked, if you disliked or if you found room for improvement. Nothing is more encouraging than good reviews._

_Is my timescale, i.e. the time that has passed since London, reasonable or does it seem like this is going too quick? If so, please let me know. Any and all criticism is welcome._

_If you're confused by the parts coming after Liara's, please be specific if you review. Point out what worked and what was nonsense, or, better yet, tell me what you're impression is of what happened. That way I can see if I manage to convey what I want or not. And tell me if there are too many divider lines in the last part, I can't decide if I like it or not.  
_

_Next update is probable gonna take a while, exams are coming up, so I gotta prioritize. Damn you college, for taking time from this. On the other hand, I'm there for a reason.  
_

_Edit: I edited the last part slightly. I don't expect you to have been too confused, but it should be clearer now and I came to the conclusion that it seemed kinda forced that I so tried to avoid mentioning the word Reaper and mass relay. Better or worse? If anyone notices, please tell.  
_


	8. Honour the Dead

_Guess what? Bioware's mine! Mwuahahaha._

_Oh, damn, I'm getting lost in my delusions again, of course, everything in Mass Effect is the copyright of Bioware, which I don't own.  
_

* * *

Honour the Dead

The first thing Tali noticed was that she was sore. Every muscle in her body ached and she was exhausted, tired down to her bones. There was an odd, itchy feeling against her skin, the fabric covering her unfamiliar and alien. Her breaths sounded off somehow, ringing weirdly around her ears.

She opened her eyes and winced at the bright light. The hand she reflexively brought up to shield her hurting eyes was covered by a smooth, white glove.

She could hear a low hum and a steady, louder thrumming, mixed with occasional clacking from somewhere outside the room. She recognized the drone of worn air-filters, the buzz of the lights and the slight, musty scent on the air. A few years ago, those sounds and that weak smell would have made her feel at home. But what she now considered home was far quieter, almost too quiet sometimes, far warmer and far more open.

Her vision cleared, and through an odd, milky visor, a white room bled into view. Fluorescent lights shone down from the ceiling and directly above her was a wide oval, set with a dozen unlit lamps. Hanging above the operation lamp were eight mechanical arms, ending in closed capsules that hid the equipment inside. A dark vid-screen was attached on the wall opposite the bed she was lying in.

Tali shifted on the bed, noting idly that the sensation of the cover under her felt oddly distant, even though the material covering her back was unusually thin. As she raised herself to a sitting position, a tug on her right side drew her gaze down to three thick tubes plugged into sockets on the plain white suit that covered her body. She followed the tubes with her eyes to where they vanished into the featureless wall on her right.

"Ah, Admiral Zorah, you're awake, I'm glad."

The amiable voice rolled from Tali's left, making her jerk head around to the window that made up most of the left side of the room. In the far left corner was a door, also of transparent material, that led into what looked like an observation room. Monitors and several control panels were set up opposite the window. A quarian in a simple grey and pale green suit waved at her, her posture radiating warm cheer, while a second quarian, her suit grass-green and black, rose from her seat at one of the control panels and nodded exaggeratedly at Tali.

"I'm Dr. Tori'Baha vas Kular and this is Mari'Kol vas Kular," the woman continued, raising her hand in a sweeping gesture to the other quarian at her side.

"Pleased to meet you," Tali croaked, her voice hoarse and rusty from disuse.

How long had she been out?

"Let me just say how positively thrilled I am that I was around when my favorite patient came to," Tori rambled, the delight in her voice giving Tali the expression that the doctor was smiling from ear to ear inside her helmet.

"How long-" Tali began, but Tori talked right over her weak question, oblivious in her enthusiasm:

"Well, you were pretty much hanging on by a hair for a while there, quite a while actually, but we managed in the end and then it was just the waiting game after that. And here you are, awake and speaking and-" the doctor abruptly fell silent when her partner put a hand on her shoulder.

"Oh, I'm sorry, what did you say?" The question was slightly sheepish, though only marginally less cheerful.

Tali took a breath and tried again:

"How long was I out?"

"A little over a month," was the quiet reply from Mari. She was tapping at her omnitool, a pale blue light construct wrapped around her right arm.

"Your friends will be happy to know that you are finally awake. I'm informing them now."

"You should have made an almost full recovery already," Tori burst out, apparently unable to restrain herself any longer. "Despite your broken arm, your gut wound and your frankly atrocious suit breaches. You're really something, Admiral."

"What happened? How are the others?" Tali asked, worry creeping into her voice as she realized how much time had passed.

"Well, the Reapers fled and the mass relays are gone," Tori answered quickly, though the cheer diminished somewhat and she clasped her hands together nervously.

"As for the-" she continued, but Mari interrupted her:

"I've informed your friends and Garrus Vakarian wants to speak to you, should I patch him through? Also, Admiral Raan, Han'Gerrel and Zaal'Koris all wish you well."

"Yes, and thank you," Tali said gratefully and Mari pressed a few buttons on her omnitool before she practically pushed her colleague out of the room.

The door had hardly closed behind the two women before the screen opposite Tali flickered to life, showing Garrus from the shoulders up. He looked much better than when Tali last saw him, but that just meant that the right side of his face wasn't all raw muscle and blue blood but instead a solid mass of scar tissue and grafts. He was wearing a black, skintight shirt, with a high collar that ended just below his chin and he was without the single-eye visor he usually wore. All that combined with the lack of his armor made him look smaller and very much like a civilian, if a really unlucky one.

"Tali?"

Tali cocked her head and frowned.

"Yes?"

Garrus broke into a grin.

"Spirits, it's good to see you. Well, in a manner of speaking, I almost didn't recognize you," he said, gesturing to her with a hand as his smile turned a bit more crooked.

A black hood materialized on the screen, just to the left of Garrus, making him twitch slightly. A bright smile and twinkling eyes greeted Tali from the shadows under the garment.

"Kasumi's here too," Garrus droned amiably, rolling his eyes and raising a hand as if to present the human.

"Hi Tali, it's great to see you awake," the thief said, giving a small wave.

Tali smiled at her two friends, and though she knew they couldn't see it, she was sure they could hear it in her voice as she answered softly: "It's reat to see you too."

"White looks good on you," Kasumi said, "I never thought I'd see you in that color, unless of course-"

Kasumi abruptly fell silent and her smile vanished. Garrus' smirk slipped for a moment, but it turned almost genuine before he spoke:

"I think I won our bet."

It wasn't much, but Tali knew him too well to miss the slight strain in the smug words.

"What happened? Are the others okay?"

Garrus' expression turned serious and Kasumi lost her smile. Then the turian took a deep breath and told her what she'd missed:

"The Crucible activated and damaged the relays. I guess it spooked the Reapers, because they fled and took the relays with them. Since then we've been scrambling to recover and hold it all together."

Garrus paused and Kasumi chimed in, the words quick and uncharacteristically anxious:

"Every cluster is cut off except for a communication links through a few quantum communicators. What's left of the fleets are working on repairs and searching for the Reapers. Food production is being set up on Mars so we won't starve. Your people have been really helpful."

"We," Tali began, "we didn't win?"

A sudden fear chilled her.

"What about John, where is he?"

Garrus' eyes darkened, and he tensed, never breaking eye contact.

"I'm sorry Tali," he said, and the muted pain in his voice echoed what rushed over her at the words.

"No," she almost whimpered, so low that she wasn't sure it was transmitted through her mouthpiece.

"They found him, and there's no mistake. He's not coming back," Garrus continued, his tone turning miserable.

Both her friends had lifted a hand, as if to reach out to her, only to lower them again a second later. Kasumi's hood hung low over her face, hiding her face, but Tali saw the light catch on something briefly. She could feel tears begin to trickle down her cheeks and her hands tightened on the covers under her as a crushing, hollow feeling entered her chest.

"He promised, that there would be more time," she whispered, lowering her head. The room felt overwhelmingly empty and cold. Her resentment towards her suit and her weak immune system rushed over her as the tears tickled their way down her cheeks and she felt the isolation from her friends even more acutely in her grief. Her breath hitched and she tried to speak, but the words disappeared in low sobs.

"Tali," Garrus began hesitantly but he didn't continue. Tali could just hear his and Kasumi's breathing over the background drone of the ship around her.

"How did he die?" Tali managed haltingly, raising her gaze to look at her two friends, catching Kasumi as she surreptitiously dabbed at her eyes. The thief opened her mouth, but Garrus put a hand on her arm and shook his head before speaking, his words urgent:

"I'll tell you everything I know when we see each other in person, but not now. We might be overheard."

A fresh stab of hurt went through her, even though she'd thought she couldn't possible feel worse. What had happened?

Kasumi seemed to sense it and she quickly added:

"It's just that it's still classified."

"And with the way things are now, I think it's a good idea to be careful," Garrus said.

Tali didn't want to ask, already feeling overwhelmed and empty, but she steeled herself and said tentatively:

"What about everybody else?"

Garrus inhaled slowly.

"EDI is gone."

In addition to the deepening of her own grief, Tali felt a pang of sympathy. Joker must be crushed.

"The geth shut down," Garrus continued, "the fleets parked them on Earth's moon and quarantined them."

"He worked so hard for them," Tali said quietly, her voice almost steady, though her tears still fell freely.

"Everyone else made it," Kasumi said, and a small, cautious note of humor crept into her voice as she smiled, "there might be more good news. Just hurry and get better."

The assurance that almost everyone from the Normandy had made it was only a marginal relief.

"That's good," Tali said, her voice stronger than before but strained. An exhaustion completely unconnected to her body had gripped her and she simultaneously wanted to be left alone and to crawl up against a warm, friendly body and cry until there were no more tears left in her. She sagged back against her backrest.

"I think we've taken up enough of your time," Kasumi said softly and Tali turned her gaze to the thief.

"Tali," Garrus said, "it's great to see you awake. We're right here, if you need us."

Garrus managed a small smirk, "it's not like I'm going anywhere at any kind of speed."

Tali let out a short, sad chuckle.

"Thank you," she said.

"We'll see you later," Garrus said.

"Call," Kasumi said, almost managing her usual warm cheer.

Tali, choking up again, merely nodded at them, and the screen winked out. She stared at the black screen for a few moments before she closed her eyes and cried quietly.

* * *

"Dry, huge and full of things that are supposed to kill you. Sounds like home, even if it hasn't been nuked and doesn't have thresher maws yet. It seemed like a good place for shore leave."

The words rumbled out the door, dry amusement coloring every syllable. Garrus rolled his wheelchair through the opening, sweeping his gaze over the conference room. The walls were bare and the table that usually occupied the middle of this kind of room was absent. Two very sturdy-looking, stainless-steel chairs dwarfed a collection of office chairs standing in front of a dark screen.

Wrex and Grunt towered over the people sitting in the centermost chairs.

"The Australians are going to love that. They can use it for tourism: Visit the Great Outback, now with krogan," Joker commented, drawing a few chuckles from the small group in the room.

The pilot was seated on the right side of the room. On one side of him was Doctor Chakwas, her steel-grey hair a stark contrast to the dark clothes worn by everyone seated. Jacob and James sat on his other side, right behind Tali, Liara and Kasumi. The quarian sat between the asari and the human women, the latter of which had a hand placed comfortingly on her shoulder. All three were dressed in somber clothing, Kasumi in her usual black hooded suit, Liara in a drab outfit that resembled what she'd been wearing when they first met her after Shepard's return from the dead. Tali, to Garrus' slight relief, was dressed in the outer suit he'd seen once or twice on the Normandy instead of the white one she'd been wearing in the hospital, making her look much more like herself.

Miranda stood off to the left side and Javik stood on the opposite side of the room, gazing impassively at the blank screen.

"Heh, Africa too. It was actually the whelp's idea," Wrex said, pointing a thumb at Grunt before turning his gaze to Garrus. The rest of the group followed the krogan leader's gaze. Both krogan ambled over to Garrus, smirking toothily at him.

"Those extranet searches were good for something after all," Wrex finished, before adding: "Garrus."

"Wrex," Garrus said easily, sharing a crushing handshake with the krogan leader while determinedly ignoring Grunt's unabashed, slightly puzzled stare. Jacob and James got up and stepped forward as Garrus gripped Grunt's hand firmly.

"Grunt, I know I'm handsome, but I just don't feel the same about you," Garrus drawled, and Grunt raised his gaze from the stumps to his face. His grin widened and he squeezed the turian's hand hard, letting out a harsh "Hah."

"Hey, Scars," James greeted, slapping him on the shoulder, before Jacob stepped forward and clasped hands with Garrus.

"Good to see you, Garrus."

"Everyone," Garrus answered, receiving a nod from the Miranda as he rolled further into the room. Kasumi and Liara smiled at him, but didn't move from their seats. Tali greeted him quietly but warmly:

"Hey Garrus."

"I heard you were expecting," Garrus said conversationally, turning his head to Jacob as he wheeled around the chairs. Out the corner of his eye, Garrus saw a flicker of, something, in Miranda's otherwise relaxed features.

Jacob flashed a smile.

"Yeah, we're going to name her Hackett. First we were thinking about Shepard, but-"

A heavy hush abruptly fell on the room and the amusement Garrus had felt at the choice of Hackett for a girl's name vanished.

"We're naming our first girl Mordin," Wrex rumbled. He nonchalantly grabbed the back of the chair beside Liara and with a jerk that made her flinch, flung it over his shoulder. Garrus tensed at the sudden, violent movement and his eyes followed the chair arching across the room. Halfway out the open doors, a blue glow enveloped the chair. It slowed to a stop in midair and the silence was ripped apart by an angry outburst:

"What the hell? I feel real fucking welcome now!"

There was a clatter of metal on metal as Jack released her hold on the chair and let it drop to the floor. She stomped into the room, glaring with varying intensity at each of the occupants. She traded a long look with Miranda before apparently dismissing her and fixing her gaze on Wrex as she dropped down on a chair behind Joker, on the opposite side from the larger chairs intended for the krogan. The pilot tensed almost unnoticeably.

"He, good to see you haven't gotten soft," Grunt chuckled. The comment merely got him a contemptuous look from the seated woman.

Wrex flicked his eyes between Garrus and the empty spot next to Liara. Wordlessly, he backed his chair into the gap, turning his head at the sound of approaching footsteps. Through the doors stepped four men and a woman in alliance uniforms.

"Looks like everyone's here. Sorry we're late," Kaidan said, a small note of genuine apology in what was usually just an empty phrase. Greetings were exchanged and Kaidan, Steve, Adams, Gabby and Kenneth found their seats.

"Well, let us begin," Liara said as the doors closed, completely blocking out all sounds from the hallway. Kasumi brought up her omnitool and clicked a few keys. A faint whirring announced the door locking behind them while the lights dimmed. The vid-screen lit up, bathing the room in soft blue and white.

The source of the blue was the aquarium taking up half the wall of the grey office shown on the screen. A model of the Citadel and a personal terminal stood on the table extending into the field of vision to the right. The pale fluorescent light shone down from above onto the man they had lost. It accentuated the long scars on his cheeks and made shadows pool around his eyes and the numerous deep lines in his face, giving his features a haunted look. Despite this, his eyes were bright and though troubled, full of fierce determination. Shepard smiled wryly, and the expression dispelled much of the dour atmosphere he had projected. His eyes turned to look past the screen, as if avoiding the gaze of everyone in the room.

"This is weird," he muttered, raising a hand to scratch his neck awkwardly, "I guess now I know how it feels, making a video will."

Garrus heard a sniffle from his right and swallowed thickly.

Shepard's smile turned somber and he turned fully to face the screen again, placing his elbows on the table and leaning slightly forward.

"If you're watching this, it means I didn't make it. It also means we won."

"That's jumping the gun a little, don't you think?" Joker muttered quietly. Though Garrus could barely hear the words, his eyes narrowed slightly. He reminded himself that this was Joker, never one for tact or silence. This was how the man coped. It still took him a second to quash the anger the comment had sparked.

On the screen, Shepard took a deep breath.

"All my affairs are in order. I'm recording this because-"

He hesitated. His smile vanished, his shoulders slumped slightly and his words came out in a sigh.

"I'm exhausted. And I have a feeling about this mission. I, I don't know if I'm making it out of this one. So I'm recording this, as a goodbye, in case I don't get to say these things."

His hands tightened into fists and his gaze became piercing.

"I swear to you: I went out with every intention of coming back. But if my death is what it takes to stop the cycle of destruction, so be it."

His eyes became distant as he leaned back slightly and his voice was soft when he spoke next:

"I lost everything on Mindoir. Family, friends. On Akuze, it happened again. For a long time after that-"

He shrugged, expression pensive.

"I guess I can relate better to Thane's battle sleep than I thought."

Shepard's lips twitched in a quick ghost of a smile.

"Then came the Normandy. And when everything spiraled out of control, I finally found something again. You forge strong bonds when everything's going to hell. You are family to me."

Garrus felt his face twist into something between a smile and grimace and felt something sweep through the people around him. He knew Shepard had always been extremely attached to those on the Normandy, loyal and devoted to them to a degree that possibly exceeded his sense of duty as a Spectre, but it still hit Garrus hard hearing it said out loud.

"If any one of you hadn't joined up with me at one point or another, I don't think I'd have made it this far," Shepard said, unusual vulnerability in his voice.

"Even though the first impressions were not always great, you've all proven yourself beyond my most hopeful expectations. You've always had my back, be it physically or emotionally, and I'd have broken down a long time ago had it not been for you."

Garrus noticed Kaidan shift uncomfortably beside him and caught an expression of sorrowful shame on his face. He pretended not to notice. Shepard had forgiven him and Garrus had to admit, he had too.

"I leave you a shattered galaxy and there will be more than enough work to last a lifetime. But you are all some of the best in your fields and I know you'll rise to the challenge," he continued, firm conviction filling his voice.

There was a pause, and Shepard's expression turned troubled, the lines in his face turning dark and deep.

"I've made decisions I'm not proud of, dealt with devils and done things I don't think I can ever atone for. I'll have to leave those messes to you. That's why, James, Kaidan, Garrus, the galaxy needs Spectres like you. You have everything it takes. And Garrus, you becoming a Spectre is just a formality and you know it. Contact Jondum Bau, he's one of the good ones."

Shepard pointed at the screen and glared, his eyes showing a very slight twinkle of mirth.

"And none of you go blaming yourself. Whatever happened to me, I know you did everything you possibly could. None of you have _ever_ given less than a hundred percent."

Garrus snorted bitterly. He could have avoided being crippled by a damn exploding Mako.

"Wrex, I expect you to make sure that curing the genophage does not turn out be a mistake. You know what I turned down to do the right thing, morally and as a friend. Thank you, for everything."

Wrex rumbled beside Garrus. He sat rigidly in his chair, his gaze fixed on the screen with a grave intensity. Grunt matched the old krogan's expression.

"Anderson," Shepard said. His tone was filled with intense gratitude and Garrus felt a stab of regret at the mention of the old man. Shepard had been too optimistic, he thought sadly.

"You've been like a father to me for a long time and never wavered in your support. Thank you, sir."

Shepard fell silent and looked down onto his hands, clasped on the table. He blinked a few times, then took a steadying breath and spoke, his voice trembling slightly:

"Tali. I'm sorry. I can barely explain what you mean to me and the thought that I might soon have seen your face for the last time-"

He trailed off.

"I love you," he said, each word heavy with emotion.

"I wish, pray, for your happiness when I'm gone. Don't let me hold you back. You deserve so much more. A home, love and a future."

Metallic, shaking breaths were audible from Garrus' right as Shepard brought a hand up to rub his eyes and inhaled unsteadily. When he lowered the hand, his expression was warm and determined.

"Thank you, all of you. I am honored, proud and incredibly grateful to have known you. Take care of each other. Be all you can be. I wish you all the best."

He smiled sadly, extending a hand out of the frame. His voice was quiet when he spoke next.

"Goodbye."

Only a heartbeat after the word left Shepard's mouth, the recording ended. The screen turned black and left the room in almost complete darkness.

Garrus was shaken, numb but for the feeling of something twisting his insides. Something crackled beside him and Garrus' quick glance told him it probably came from the tightly clenched fists of the two krogan. He wisely decided to neither comment on that nor on the intense, if slightly confused expression on Grunt's face.

Soft hitching breaths reached his ears from beside and behind him, mixed with murmurs too quiet to understand, a soft sound of cloth moving and the slight creak of chairs. Garrus bowed his head and placed a hand on Liara's shoulder, feeling rough, raised scarring through the thin fabric. She pressed against his hand but he pushed back and after a moment, she relaxed under his hand, and the chair squeaked as she settled down again. Her hand covered his a moment later and the mere touch of a friend was a small measure of comfort he desperately needed.

"Thanks," she murmured.

"You work too much," he answered wearily, his voice barely audible. "The galaxy can give us a few damn minutes."

Here in the quiet darkness, cut off from the rest of the galaxy was probably one of only chances they were going to get to meet and share the burdens and the grief. Just this once, they would take as much damn time as they needed before allowing themselves to be called back to duty.

* * *

The sky was a pale blue, dotted with thin wisps of ashen clouds. The wan, autumn sunlight did little to warm the chill midday air and every breath brought in the faint smell of cement, dirt and a faint touch of soot and grass. Cloth rustled and the flags behind the dais snapped rhythmically in the stiff breeze. The camera lenses aimed at the dais flashed when they caught the light.

"Admiral Anderson spent a long life, tirelessly working for humanity to finds its place in the galactic community."

Councilor Tevos' voice rolled forth from the speakers in front of the blue, spectral projection of the Citadel Council. The Council's speech, a few minutes of praise for both Shepard and Admiral Anderson, was winding down and the hour long funeral ceremony was nearing its end.

Garrus exhaled quietly and straightened his back again, glancing to the people around him on the dais. The past and present members of the ground crew were seated around him, next to Admiral Anderson's immediate family, closest friends and a few others. As he turned his gaze back to the Council ahead of him, he wished he hadn't. The bored, willfully impatient expressions Jack and Grunt wore did little to distract him from the slight trembling he'd caught in Tali and Liara and how the sight merely added to the emptiness in his chest. The grieved exhaustion he had seen in Sanders' posture probably resembled his own, only worse. The blonde woman sat with her head high and her back straight, but the heartfelt speech she'd held for Anderson had obviously been just as draining as the words he'd spoken of Shepard earlier that day.

"He was a man possessed of a keen intellect, which he never hesitated to use to further the cause he believed in," Councilor Valern continued, all stoic respect.

Garrus' eyes strayed from the Council, passing over the two simple, grey coffins, draped in Alliance flags, to the crowds assembled beyond. Arranged in two huge blocks, leaving a wide corridor down the center, were thousands of people. On the front row sat the Normandy crew, side by side with various high-ranking officials, among them Han'Gerrel, Shala'Raan and Zaal'Koris.

"He was a soldier, a man of quiet strength with an utter dedication to duty. He put the needs of the many before his own and when the time came, fought and died for those he lived for," Sparatus said solemnly.

To the right, the dark, somber mass of humans gave way to blue and purple skin and lighter clothes, where the asari were gathered. Behind them were the turians, a motley block of blues, grays and whites, standing at attention like an army regiment at a parade. Garrus could only barely make out the salarians that made up the rear and only because the riot of subdued skin colors were a stark contrast to the neutral and dark colors that made up most of the right block and the surrounding area.

"Shepard embodied the essence of what it means to be a Spectre. He was brave and resourceful, a shining example for others to follow," Councilor Tevos continued.

On the left, past the small group of humans at the front, the absolutely massive turnout of quarians drew the eye with their brightly colored clothes and environment suits, as did the muted, but very diversely colored skin and armor of the countless krogan behind them.

"He had power and confidence, tempered with restraint and wisdom, allowing him to take the best courses of action instead of the easiest and most popular," Valern said.

Dotting the crowd were many individuals of other species, volus barely visible among the taller surrounding people, hanar slightly easier to make out despite their complete and unusual lack of flashing bioluminescence while elcor stood out sharply by virtue of their size. To the right of the front rank, a good distance from the nearest galactic citizen, stood three rachni, larger than warriors, but smaller than the queen they'd freed on Utukku. The insect-like aliens seemed restless, constantly stepping back and forth on their four, multi-jointed legs and moving their long feelers in slow sinuous arcs, but they still seemed intently focused on the dais. Then again, considering how alien they were, Garrus doubted he had any ability to judge their body language.

"And most admirably, he possessed the unrelenting drive and determination to serve the galaxy and, and in the end, the willingness to give up his life for the greater good," Sparatus said, nothing but respect and genuine regret in his voice.

Garrus grit his teeth and narrowed his eyes as the Councilors held a brief pause. If the Council had been quicker to trust, Shepard might have still been alive, along with so many others.

"The loss of these two extraordinary men will be felt greatly in the time to come, but we must see past our grief and honour their memory by standing as one and eradicating the Reapers."

To Garrus' surprise, it was Sparatus who ended the speech, his voice carrying a note of steel. The Councilors bowed their heads in unison and their ghostly forms drifted away from the lectern to a spot on the far left of the dais, as a scattered clapping grew and rose to a loud, sustained applause.

Wrex rose from his seat and walked with heavy footsteps to the lectern as the noise began to fade. When he gripped the sides of the lectern and raised himself to his full height, his bearing that of a proud, controlled leader, the crowd quieted again.

"I don't know much about David Anderson," he began bluntly, his voice booming over the crowd.

"I know that he always believed in Shepard. He lived and died a warrior, fought on Earth for this entire war and gave a good fight right to the end. I respect that and this galaxy is worse off without him."

Wrex turned slightly and Garrus guessed he'd turned his gaze on the right coffin, Shepard's coffin.

"Shepard was my friend," the old krogan said solemnly, emphasizing the last word heavily. "There is no man I respect more than him."

He paused and when he spoke next, his deep voice had tones of pride, gratitude and a faint hint of sadness:

"With Mordin Solus, he cured the genophage. "Those two names will forever be synonymous with hero to the krogan people."

A small sad smile crossed Garrus' face momentarily. One thing was certain: Shepard would never be forgotten, by any race in the galaxy.

"Some of you fear that the krogan will become a threat to the galaxy when we've destroyed the Reapers."

Wrex leaned slightly forward and the sides of the lectern bent beneath his fingers.

"That will not happen," he said firmly, enunciating each word very clearly. His words were barely more than a growl when he added:

"I will not allow it! We will honour Shepard, his trust and his sacrifice and we will protect this galaxy."

With that, he turned and returned to his seat as applause rose from the crowd. The krogan roared in answer to Wrex' speech, and those closest to the krogan looked somewhat nervous if Garrus was any judge. Not that he could blame them, seeing as he couldn't determine if the savage bellow was primarily agreement or disagreement.

Silence slowly returned as Tali stepped forward. Her hands were fidgeting idly on the surface of the lectern and the slight turn of her head told Garrus that her gaze was firmly on Shepard's casket. But her shoulders no longer trembled and her voice was steady when she spoke:

"Everyone has talked about how Shepard was strong and brave. How he was a great leader. But there was more to him than that."

Tali's voice grew softer.

"John was kind and fair. When I was on my pilgrimage, he was one of the first to not treat me as a beggar and a thief, but with respect and concern. He made me a part of his crew, on equal footing with everyone else. He treated everyone like that."

Garrus could hear the sad smile in Tali's voice, as she continued:

"He was funny, thoughtful and curious. He liked to talk and spent hours wandering the ship. It was so obvious that he was genuinely interested and concerned for all of us."

Garrus sighed wistfully. Shepard _had_ always wanted to talk, sometimes excessively and the "calibrations"-excuse had worn very thin during the Collector mission. Now he wished he hadn't deflected so many of Shepard's attempts to talk.

"He was always hopeful, never judging by appearance and only ever seeing everyone's greatest potential. And the rachni, the krogan, the geth and many others proved him right in expecting the best."

Tali let out a small, shaky chuckle and looked into her hands for a moment.

"He was so inspiring, so casually, modestly likable. And by some miracle, he wanted me, the girl trapped in the environment suit with a crush on her hesh'la. I couldn't believe it. He made me so happy."

Though it probably was too faint for most of the spectators to make out, Garrus didn't miss how Tali's hands shook. Garrus clenched his fists on the sides of his chair, welcoming the way the hard edge dug into his palm as he breathed deeply.

"Now he's gone," Tali said, her voice pained but still strong, "and the galaxy is a much emptier place without him. He gave me everything he could and he gave the galaxy more than any one person has ever given."

She paused briefly and her shoulders rose with the deep breath she took.

"He gave me his love, and I love him like I've never loved anyone before. But he couldn't give us more time. I'll never forget him and I'll always treasure the time we had together."

She took a shaky breath.

Thank you. Keelah se'lai."

Tali remained standing at the lectern as the applause slowly grew in strength. The rising sound conveyed less of the gung-ho enthusiasm that the earlier few speeches had elicited and more of an intense, sad respect, similar to the one Sander's and Garrus' speech had received.

As the noise died down, a rapid drumbeat began, soon followed by brass instruments giving the music a mournful undertone. The people seated at the dais all got to their feet, and Garrus felt a flash of bitterness at not being able to stand with them.

In time with the music, six people moved to stand by each casket. Wrex and Kaidan took up position at the foot of Shepard's coffin, Tali and Liara behind them, while Javik and Grunt stood by the head of the casket. Meanwhile, Hackett and Primarch Victus placed themselves at the front of Admiral Anderson's coffin, followed by Sanders and a dark green salarian Garrus didn't recognize. The two humans taking the last two spots were also unfamiliar to Garrus, but from their lack of military uniform and dark skin, Garrus guessed the woman and man to be part of Anderson's family.

The music stopped for a beat as the twelve gripped the caskets and began to walk slowly down the aisle between the gathered spectators. Garrus and the remaining crew and family on the dais followed the pallbearers and behind them, the rest of the Normandy crew rose and followed, lengthening the procession. Garrus' gaze fell on the people lining the path, their faces blurring together in his mind, but all conveying some mix of sorrow, fear and simmering anger, galvanized into steely resolve.

After what seemed like forever, and yet at the same time felt like just a moment, they passed out on the other side of the crowd, the pallbearers carefully moving forward and pushing the coffins into the small, waiting shuttle. Tali ran a hand gently over Shepard's coffins before standing back, allowing the doors to close. The procession turned again to watch the crowd, Garrus taking up position between Wrex and Tali.

Hackett stepped forward, folding his hands behind his back. For a moment, the old, scarred man simply stood there, the very model of a controlled military commander, back ramrod straight, his navy blue and gold uniform flawless.

"Today, we bury two of the greatest heroes of this war, two men I had the pleasure of knowing personally," he began.

Tali put a hand that felt very fragile on Garrus shoulder and his one mandible twitched as Wrex put a heavy hand on his other shoulder. To an outsider, everyone from the ground crew seemed stoic, but he knew them too well to miss the small signs that they felt similar to him. This was it, he thought. His chest felt tight and empty and his muscles tensed up.

"There is not much left to say of these great men that have not already been said. They were strong, good men, who united the galaxy," Hackett continued, his voice carrying easily over the crowd.

"The Reapers are on the run. They will regret taking these men from us. There will be no place for them to hide, nowhere for them to run. We will hunt them down and give them no quarter."

The crowd exploded into noise and a palpable aura of menace and resolve emanated from the gathering of thousands. The ceremony was obviously fulfilling its main purpose, Garrus thought absently, the growing, hollow numbness making it hard to care about the cynical way the funeral was being used.

As the mass of people fell silent, the low rumble of the shuttle's engines rose. A loud wave of snapping and rustling cloth rolled over Garrus as the crowd, almost without exception, moved to stand at attention. A wide variety of salutes were now on display, from the krogans' variations on the "fist on chest" salute to the various ways of bringing a flat hand up to the head that most others sported.

A sharp bark of command drew Garrus' eye to his left where a line of seven soldiers moved as one, cocking what looked like antique weapons and aiming out into the distance. The sharp crack of the guns discharging seemed deafening in the silence and the two repeats left his ears ringing. The odd, seemingly wasteful display ended as quickly as it had begun and the shuttle rose. Garrus saluted at the retreating vehicle, as did the rest of the group around him.

"Goodbye Shepard," Garrus mumbled quietly. Tali's hand dug painfully into his shoulder, but he merely covered her hand with his own, his eyes fixed on the shuttle vanishing in the distance.

The sudden, shrill ring ripping the silence apart startled him and he whipped his head around to glare daggers at the offender. To his surprise, he found himself looking at Hackett. The man's face was a mask as he looked at the blue omnitool wrapped around his wrist for only a moment, before snapping his head up and looking at the crowd.

"Return to you designated dwellings or your fleet ships," he said calmly, unceremoniously taking up a brisk walk in the direction Garrus of the military shuttles. The crowd erupted into agitated chatter.

Garrus' omnitool flared around his arm, his fingers moving almost of their own accord to access the newest information his VI had gathered. The information appearing on the screen made fiery rage flare in his chest and he gritted his teeth, even as he heard a hiss and growl around him."

"This is not a drill. Code red, please follow your instructions calmly."

The infuriatingly calm and smooth voice of an asari rolled over the assembly as Garrus hurried with the others toward the landing platform, the crowd ponderously beginning to disperse behind him. There was remarkably little distress in the huge crowd, considering the situation. The short message he'd read on his omnitool flashed in his mind:

"_Reaper activity detected. Destroyer sighted near Luna."_

* * *

_Wow, this chapter grew beyond my expectations of length. Sorry for the long wait, exams came up and then everything kinda slipped, not the least because this was kinda hard to write._

_I'm really surprised at the amount of grief scenes I'm writing, but they are kinda fun and a challenge. Hope I'm making emotional scenes instead of just making melodrama, please tell me if I succeed.  
_

_As always, every kind of review is greatly appreciated, praise, criticism, grammar mistakes, everything. Nothing is more encouraging than seeing that someone cared enough about the story to leave a review.  
_

_I hope to update sooner this time, but I won't promise anything.  
_


	9. Fight for the Living

_I don't own Mass Effect or any characters from it. I'm just writing for fun and training._

* * *

Fight for the Living

The room was cavernous, stretching out in four directions like the insides of a great, dark cathedral. The ceiling rose in high arches above the floor, akin to colossal ribcages, covered in metal pipes that snaked and weaved like black veins and muscle around the thick, diamond-like skeleton at their center. Despite the wide space, the walls and ceiling seemed to press in from every side, as if to crush anyone caught within. Sullen yellow shone through cracks between the metal and golden lightning flickered sporadically over the surface, the illumination hinting at great power hidden in the surroundings. A low, dull drone echoed through the thin air and whispers drifted on a sluggish breeze, the total effect being a disquieting sound that would set a visitor's teeth on edge.

At the foot of the sinister walls, numerous thin, multi-jointed limbs sprouted from the floor, like inverted spider's legs. They roamed over two dark figures lying within an open half-sphere of metal, the still bodies pierced by numerous dark, worm-like tubes.

The gold light revealed black steel and grey tissue. A needlepoint stabbed into a grey wrist and five new fingers twitched reflexively. Hollow-pointed legs drifted over the bodies' heads, shaping muscles and coating them with grey fiber, hiding the grinning black skulls from view.

The faces quickly took shape, becoming smooth and distinct, while strands of fiber were added to their scalps. Finally, gel coated the lenses within the eye sockets and newly made eyelids closed over the finished eyes.

The spider-like legs withdrew from the finished bodies and went still as the dead. Nothing moved but the play of lights cast by the sparks of lightning, setting shadows and light dancing over the motionless bodies that would remain there until the time of their awakening.

* * *

Shuddering tendrils wrapped hundreds of struggling, bitter minds. Branching from the main limbs were thousands of tiny, trembling feelers, digging savagely after knowledge deep in the thrashing prisoners, forcing their way through the raging consciousnesses. The thin branches paid no heed to the muck that clung to them as they worked, burning them, piercing them and assaulting every fracture with scenes of death and oozing whispers of despair.

In a different part of the mental landscape, shivering tendrils withdrew from an immense and now insignificant mind, impressions of unearthly pain and incomprehension clinging to them like a dark film. The release let the captive awaken only to experience the scorching heat burn through it as it was consumed, a consciousness of billions dying in the conflagration of a star on the other side of the galaxy.

The death shriek was thunderous, but it was merely the latest of many and though the waves of agony and outrage did stir the darkness, the web of innumerable sinuous vines and chains had grown inured to the ripples in the boiling tar and the predictable, surging struggle of the titanic consciousness they gripped and pierced and sunk into. The restricting web shook with strain, but even as the agonized roar rolled through the dense void, the feelers found the object of their search. They stabbed violently through the mind holding the desired knowledge, wrapping around the information and ripping it from the heart of the resisting ancient, while currents of electric chatter raced back through the roots.

The secret to long distance space travel flickered the conscious web spanning the mindscape and triumph emanated from the half-conscious, weary presence at the center of the web, drowning out the rolling thunder of the recently expired mind, and for a moment, the fury of the prisoners. The vines withdrawing from their invasion merged back into stronger limbs and wrapped fully around the one they had just robbed of vital information, the strengthened chains sinking into its surface with increased force.

A low satisfied murmur remained after the burst of triumph faded; surviving even as the the chained consciousnesses' fury became perceptible again. The rebuilding was proceeding magnificently. The Sol relay was complete, several other relays were either complete or nearing completion and the expeditions were well on their way. One of the squadrons that had been sent to traverse the void between the clusters had reached its goal, a broken relay caught in a metallic asteroid belt.

A subtle thrill flashed through the quaking mindscape. The asteroid belt contained suitable materials for the repair, allowing the squadron to be preserved.

The thrill was snuffed out almost immediately as something touched the outer reaches of the mass of minds, fumbling ignorantly. Though incapable of understanding the mental cosmos it had reached, the transgressor was familiar, its tools something the electric, clicking part of the web recognized, and the understanding drew blazing outrage from the center. Waves of scorching anger seared through the mindscape and the cool calm shrouding the weave around the minds could only lessen the reaction, its voice muffled.

A single immense metallic body shot from its place among the others towards the inner system.

They would end the vermin for its insult.

* * *

"All systems are running perfectly. We're completely dark. Nobody's going to see us."

The comment was loud in the small room, rising easily over the faint hum of engines and the soft bleeps of virtual keys being pressed. Three opaque facemasks turned to the speaker, a slight male quarian in a very unassuming grey and dark-blue suit, seated at a console on the left side of the bridge. The slight slump in the shoulders of two of those watching conveyed mild annoyance across the room before the technicians turned their attentions back to the flickering holographic screens they sat by. The third watcher, seated in a throne-like chair in the middle of the room, showed as much emotion in her body language as could be seen through her violet visor.

Daro'Xen didn't dignify the comment with a response and ignored the slight edge of nervousness in the technician's voice. She could see the system stats perfectly well on the glowing orange screens in front of her. Of course they wouldn't be seen. This approach had been planned meticulously to avoid the patrols and the stealth technology cloaked them from detection by any means other than the purely visual. Actually spotting the Adumba had been made doubly difficult by the fact that the ship was almost invisible against the dark sky with its almost black paintjob and lack of any kind of emblems or insignia. Additionally, Xen expected the lookouts to be at least a little less alert because of the funeral that was being broadcast.

After a second of enduring his superior's impassive, unreadable gaze, the accelerated tapping of keys told the room that the chatty technician had returned to his duties.

Xen dismissed the technician from her thoughts and turned her gaze back to the front window, gazing past the two pilots. As she watched, the ship passed over a jagged ridge and the land below fell away as they entered the Aitken Basin. Ahead, the horizon stretched out in an almost perfect line, dividing the view sharply into black and grey. No stars were visible in the dark void above and nothing stirred the surface of Luna below.

Time passed slowly. Though the ground under them sped by rapidly, each feature of the scenery looked like the next, making it seem like they weren't moving at all. Xen drummed her fingers on the armrest, willing the craft to move faster, even though she knew this speed was the best they could manage while minimizing the risks of detection. They had a schedule to keep if she wanted to be able to be back in time to deflect the questions that would surely be asked when the funeral was over.

She abruptly stopped the impatient drumming when she spotted something that broke the monotony of the basin. Sunlight gleamed off dull, curved metal as an immense scrap yard came into view, albeit a scrap yard consisting of nothing but some of the finest weapons, hardware and software in the galaxy.

The geth ships numbered in the thousands. Most of them were small fighters and frigates, but larger cruisers made up a considerable amount of the grounded fleet, while enormous dreadnoughts and carriers sat heavily here and there, like hills rising above the mass of smaller crafts.

Xen rose from her seat and exited the room. A short walk later and dull, grey metal parted to allow her access into the cargo hold. It was just big enough to have space for a couple of small fighters, though it was mostly empty now. The floor was rough metal, cut through with a multitude of narrow grooves, where the panels could be adjusted to arrange for restraints and holders, removed to uncover power sockets and generally allow for whatever customization the cargo hold needed. The bulkheads were lined with low benches, and a small group was seated there. Four krogan in similar brown hard-suits muttered something amongst themselves in low growls. Various tools were stuck magnetically to their backs. One of them spotted her approaching and spoke two short words and the four donned identical helmets and fell silent. The two women next to the huge aliens already wore their helmets and were both using their omnitools. The light constructs around their forearms cast a harsh yellow light on the two asaris' opaque visors.

Xen pressed a few keys on her own omnitool and spoke:

"No one will use any other communication than this frequency. Stay close. Don't touch anything unless I tell you to."

The krogan rolled their shoulders, but the front one nodded silently and none of the others spoke. The asari didn't react visibly to Xen's words.

The ship banked softly and then a subtle vibration announced the impending landing while a hiss and an odd sensation of growing lighter told her the hold was being depressurized. The group took up position in the rear end of the hold and Xen grabbed hold of a handle to her right, something she was thankful for a second later when the Amunda landed heavily, sending a shudder through the floor that might have unbalanced her if she hadn't been holding on to something.

The doors opened sluggishly, the bottom part lowering into a ramp and Xen hurried down it, the group trailing right behind her. Dust kicked up by the landing was already falling back to the ground as she set foot on the moon's surface, the small clouds of sand still in the air clinging to her exterior hard-suit.

They walked from the small open space around the Amunda, through a field of broken shells which were pitted and scarred by mass accelerator fire. Some distance away, directly ahead, was their destination, a large transport ship towering above the surrounding ships, leaning slightly towards them. Its hull had been split almost in half, as if by a gigantic axe, leaving a yawning opening through most of the structure. On either side of the small, approaching group, geth ships stretched out far, looking as empty and lifeless as the surrounding plain.

But they weren't dead. The geth had shut down, but a bare minimum of activity was still detectable if one knew where and how to look and if anyone had that knowledge, it was Xen.

Activity meant that there was still something there, and with any luck, it would be possible to figure out the geth's recent upgrades and putting the synthetics to their proper use. And if nothing else, the geth had made great advances in the purely physical departments of weapons and systems during the war.

The group reached the transport and entered the gaping hole. The deck they stepped onto was slightly slanted and sent metallic beats up through Xen's feet and suit to ring around her ears. The corridor ahead was all harsh lines and hard angles, except for at the top of the walls, where intense heat had melted the metal into blobs and thick lines that ran down the walls. Above, the black sky was visible through the widening rent that had been cleaved into the ship. The narrow corridor would have been slightly claustrophobic normally, but now it was open to the sky, it seemed much larger than it actually was.

Xen only paid the unusual sight the barest minimum of attention, hurrying up the incline towards a ruined doorway. Past the opening, a corridor stretched out to both sides. Past the slag immediately around the door, the walls were lined with geth platforms, standing straight against the walls, their dark flashlight heads lowered to point slightly downwards. Solid metal restraints wrapped around their shoulders and locked around their midsections, securing them for transport. The platforms were of varying size, color and shape, apparently arranged in some sort of units for quick deployment. Xen pointed at two of the krogan and indicated the red shape of a geth juggernaut.

"Cut it loose, get it down," she said sharply and the two moved silently to the indicated geth, one of the krogan grabbing a small, stubby circular saw from his back. A moment later, sparks rained down on the deck below while the other krogan did the same to a different part of the restraints.

Xen pointed to a smaller geth on the other side of the room and the rest of the krogan moved to free the geth hunter and the shock trooper next to it. While the krogan worked, Xen slipped further into the ship, through another wrecked opening, followed by the two asari.

They entered a large room, lacking most of its high ceiling. Debris, melted metal and metal girders were strewn over the floor, along with destroyed geth platforms. But to the other side of the room, a huge, humanoid figure was stretched out over the floor. The shattered remains of its restraints still covered its shoulders and its right arm was warped by heat. Its head was turned to the side, almost as if watching the door the three newcomers had entered through.

Xen's lips stretched into a satisfied smile. The geth prime was exactly what she'd hoped to find and the main reason she'd brought the biotics. On the few occasions she'd had the opportunity to study a prime, they'd been a wealth of new knowledge and it would likely be no different this time. She hurried to the fallen geth, while speaking to the krogan they'd left behind:

"Forget the juggernaut, you two, get in here."

"What? But we've just-" One deep voice began, but the cold voice of the krogan leader snapped:

"Move."

Good, Xen had paid them enough to not have to explain or wait for them. Only moments later, two krogan and two asari stood around the huge, fallen synthetic. Blue light wrapped the geth and the asari before the krogan tugged on the prime and it slowly moved forward and upwards.

"Good, back to the ship," Xen said, walking right behind the geth prime.

The other krogan joined up behind them, carrying the juggernaut between them, as they moved back out of the room and down the corridor. The formation of geth prime, krogan and asari just barely fit through the corridor. This was obviously not the intended exit for the giant synthetic, Xen though absently, as she cautiously probed the geth unit with her omnitool. The readings showed faint, but noticeable activity and her interest was rising rapidly. There was a bit of basic sensing of the surroundings, some idle processing and, curiously, a tiny, almost invisible amount of transmitting. This was turning out to be a bigger success than she had hoped, she thought as the krogan in front of her lifted the prime out onto the moons white surface.

"We're returning now, be ready for takeoff," she informed the pilots.

"Affirmative, we're-"

The activity showing on her omnitool suddenly spiked and the reply was cut off by a burst of static and an electronic shriek so loud it felt like a physical blow. The noise drove her to her knees, along with the asari and krogan, while the prime drifted slowly forward, carried by its momentum. An agonizing moment passed before the noise lessened.

Xen raised her head from where she'd fallen on the floor, only to wince when something different, but still painfully loud sounded in her ears:

"**You have become an _annoyance!"_**

The voice was a male baritone, layered with echoes and a deafening chorus of electric voices that gave the words a disturbing edge. The tone was outraged, resentful and pained.

A thought was forming in the back of her mind, sparked by what she'd heard, but her head was still ringing from the assault of sound and she was stopped from gathering her thoughts and figuring it out by the slightly panicked words of Bidya, the main pilot:

"Admiral, Reapers are in the vicinity."

Xen's eyes widened as her mind cleared. She got to her feet unsteadily and took a step forward.

And then the world exploded in scarlet flame and crushing pressure.

* * *

Captain Tol'Kira gazed uneasily at the view-screen. The command bridge bustled with activity around him and the air was filled with the sound of chatter and the low buzz of omnitools and holographic screens.

After a month and a half with no sightings of Reapers except for scattered reports of them reclaiming their dead, a Reaper Destroyer had appeared close to Luna and immediately opened fire on the inactive geth on the surface.

The fleets had reacted with apparent calm to the development. A group cruisers and a dreadnought close to the destroyer were already lining up for a combined and overwhelming barrage that should take out the enemy. The rest of the fleet had only adjusted marginally to the Reaper's appearance, gathering slightly to better allow quicker, easier support. Despite the disciplined response, anxiousness was heavy in the air and the fleet was on high alert. The only logical explanation for the destroyer to appear like that, unsupported and so close to Earth, was as a diversion and the fleets were not going to fall for it.

Countless scouting vessels scattered through the Sol System were all searching frantically for any sign of incoming Reapers, in the hope of giving some advance warning to the main fleet, but so far no-one had reported any sightings.

Tol silently cursed his luck. It had been the Timak that first detected the Reaper and so the ship had been tasked with keeping track of the enemy with active ladar detection. Worse, he was in charge of active pursuit, so the Timak was one of the scouting vessels that would have to physically follow the Reaper if it tried to escape via FTL. Even now, every scrap of information their sensors picked up about the Reaper was being used in simulations to predict its movements while Leinad, the pilot, constantly kept the Timak aligned with the destroyer so they could follow in its wake.

Tol's frustration and confusion grew as he watched the huge enemy starship move. As diversions went, this one was pathetic, only provoking more vigilance and sacrificing a destroyer, a significant loss for no apparent gain. After firing a single shot, it had merely begun to slowly turn, seemingly uncaring of the danger it was in.

"C'mon, fire," Tol muttered, forcefully keeping his hands on his armrests instead of wringing then anxiously. He could easily see that the dreadnought and frigates were in position, but they weren't attacking. It was with a sinking feeling that he realized that they were allowing the destroyer make the first move.

"Be on your toes, we're going after the Reaper in a moment," he said to the room, almost managing to mask the resignation he felt. A murmur of agreement and acknowledgement answered him and only seconds later he saw the telltale signs that the destroyer was preparing for jump. There was a burst of high-energy light radiation and only a moment passed before the Timak jumped into FTL in pursuit.

The seconds ticked by and Tol frowned. The first time the Timak dropped out of FTL to make sure they hadn't lost the Reaper, the sensors and gathered data indicated their quarry was making no attempt at eluding pursuit, performing none of the expected erratic, evasive maneuvers and instead travelled in a completely straight line that projections told him led towards no notable feature of the system.

The second time they paused, Tol became aware that he'd begun to wring his hands. This was too easy, no hostile ship ever attempted escape by pure speed. It simply didn't work. He would have suspected a trap if he'd been in this situation before the Reaper War but the Reapers had always preferred overwhelming force in space engagements and once again, the only thing they were luring in here was a small group of scouting vessels, hardly something worth risking a destroyer.

Leinad had apparently had the same thoughts.

"Proceed, captain?"

Tol only hesitated for a heartbeat before answering his friend and pilot. Whatever the case, he had been ordered to follow the destroyer to its destination and that was that. With the bizarre hope that the Reapers hadn't suddenly begun taking completely tactically unsound risks, he answered firmly:

"Proceed."

Not even a minute passed before they dropped out of FTL for the last time. Ladar detection went online and Tol barely restrained an alarmed curse at the image that coalesced on his viewscreen. The Reaper had slowed almost to a halt at reaching its destination, and Tol thanked whatever might be watching over him for the fact that the Timak and the two frigates flanking it were not even within extreme engagement range of the destroyer or the forces it had met up with.

"Kill the ladar. Scatter and hide!" he snapped desperately, wishing for what felt like the thousandth time that they had a stealth system. On the screen, the starship they had been following was just one among numerous other icons and Tol didn't even bother checking what the number said. With a quick gesture, he opened a comm. channel even as Leinad took the ship into another FTL jump and the other ships followed their example.

"Admirals, we found the Reapers, all of them by the looks of it," he said, only barely managing a proper respectful tone.

"Evade and stand-by," came the curt response, but Tol barely heard it, his eyes on his screen where the images and info from the brief ladar scan was updating, showing a burst of light and energy from a previously completely dark area in the center of the Reaper fleet. A completely cold object, even when seen against the backdrop of space, that emitted bursts of energy? He pressed an icon on his screen and leaned to the side, turning his gaze on the crewmembers on his left.

"Is that-" he began, even as the imaging software put together an image of a very familiar shape.

"That appears to be a mass relay, captain," Stali confirmed loudly, sounding half-excited, half-astonished, "and it's active, a Reaper just went through it!"

He lifted his hand from the icon, allowing his breathless words to be transmitted to the admirals again:

"The Reapers are using an active Relay, I repeat, they have an active relay."

The words that answered him were not those of the brusque communications officer from before. Instead the steely, if slightly winded, baritone of Admiral Hackett met his ears:

"Get as close as safely possible, we can't lose them now. Scout groups 23 through 37, join Captain Tol'Kira, we need eyes on the enemy. Sword, prepare for battle."

Tol's heartbeat sped up as he relayed the order to Leinad. His hands were shaking as he accepted the requests to open communication links with the scouts. The calm was over and now the war was resuming. With him on the front line this time, he thought anxiously, as the Timak closed in on the Reaper forces again, taking up a position in the spherical web made up of the scouting vessels surrounding the enemy. The Timak did not slow to a stop, but maintained an irregular movement pattern that kept it within its part of the surveillance formation and allowed it a measure of protection from being easily picked out. That was the idea anyway.

With the steady stream of information gathered from the scouts, the image of the Reaper forces became clearer. Destroyers and capital ships were clustered around the relay which was indubitably active, as it sent out regular bursts of light as it sent Reaper after Reaper away from the Sol Cluster to who knew where. Fully half of the Reapers were turned away from the center of the Sol System, seemingly positioned for transit, while the rest formed a loose sphere, with most of the Reapers making up the formation facing towards Sol.

Chatter on the bridge had almost ceased. It seemed Tol was not the only one who was irrationally being as quiet as possible, as if being silent would make them less of a target. As the minutes ticked by, he kept his eyes fixed on his holo-screens, taking in the orders and the battle plan forming on it. This seemed like a good plan, considering the situation and the time constraints. Then again, conventional space engagements had always been risky with the Reapers, and that was putting it mildly. He just hoped the enemy fleet was as vulnerable as it looked.

"You have your targets," Admiral Hackett said gravely, "If there is any sign that the Reapers are moving the relay, they are to be stopped, whatever the cost. We may not be able to destroy them all on this day, but we cannot allow the Reapers free rein to move about the galaxy. We must keep them here, in this cluster. Godspeed. Hackett out."

It seemed only a moment passed before the space on the Reapers' right filled up with the reduced Sword Fleet. Turian and Alliance dreadnoughts, the survivors of the desperate battle above Earth, flashed into view, their hulls bearing the ugly scars of battle and the rushed repairs. They were flanked by numerous cruisers, the smaller ships ragged but ready for battle.

Wolfpack flotillas, many of them the merged remnants of their diminished original groups and some even a mix of different species' frigates, filled the void like blue-silver arrows, aimed at the enemy.

The disparate quarian ships, the survivors of the Patrol Fleet and Heavy Fleet, from the smallest fighters to the immense dreadnoughts, made up the most distant flank, together with the Destiny Ascension and the rest of the asari forces.

Swarms of fighters poured from the carriers that had taken up position at the rear of the formation, while interceptors flowed around the heaviest ships, ready to defend against oculi.

The odd, bioships of the Rachni and the salarian ships that had joined the Battle for Earth and survived completed the formation, bringing up the flank closest to the Timak.

In terms of pure numbers, the difference in forces was not large, and slightly in favor of Tol's own side, but he also knew by bitter experience that each Reaper was a powerhouse in itself. Even as he thought that, the Destiny Ascension began the attack, the huge mass accelerator in the odd ship's middle spitting out a round that struck a capital ship with terrible force. The rest of Sword attacked almost simultaneously only an instant after the asari ship and the screen lit up with the bursts of energy that bloomed as the projectiles impacted.

Tol showed his teeth in a vindictive smirk as he saw the capital ship crumble beneath the barrage, its barriers bursting and its hull being ripped apart in a blinding explosion. Then the image shifted as the Timak, together with the rest of the scout vessels, joined the in behind the wolf-packs and fighters, which closed during the initial volley, led by the Normandy SR-2 and joined by fighters. The close-range fighters engaged a destroyer on the edge of the gathered Reapers, keeping a judicious distance to the deadly storm of fire aimed at the center of the Reapers. Tol raised an eyebrow as he realized that no oculi were intercepting them and that the Reapers had in fact not even retaliated yet.

There was a momentary lull in the barrage from the fleet and in that time, the knife-range fighters converged on a destroyer, the concentrated fire overwhelming the motionless colossus and tearing it apart in a blast of blue-white flame.

This was a really good start, Tol thought. Judging from their lack of response, the Reapers were reeling from the initial attack and they'd already taken down two of them. He felt an odd mixture of unease and fragile hope rise in his chest, a tremble that competed with his rapid heartbeat. This might actually work out.

The next volley lashed out, but this time the attack failed to overwhelm the targets, the wave of projectiles smashing into the barriers and making them flare up with azure and silver light.

Tol noticed the wolf-packs disengage from the close-range combat and then his breath escaped him as he saw the gigantic ship that was Harbinger emerge from the throng around the relay. Leinad was apparently just as stunned, because the Timak was one of the few ships that weren't getting some distance between themselves and the enemy.

This wasn't right. Last time he'd seen Harbinger, it had been attacking the ones that had the relay. The Reapers had been divided.

He cursed, as his hope died in his chest and the Reapers, almost in unison, turned to face Sword with turns that would have shorn dreadnoughts of similar sizes in half. He could feel the horror that spread on the bridge. They had expected a gruelling fight, but the flanking maneuver should have bought them time to have an impact, giving them a fighting chance. That advantage had just been eliminated.

Scarlet shone from the Reapers and lances of liquid metal sped through space, the volley smashing into the largest ships in the assembled fleet with crushing force. To Tol's relief, nothing indicated that the attacks broke through the barriers, but he could see it taxing the barriers to the breaking point.

He frowned as he noticed that only a little over half the Reapers had actually fired. He waited with baited breath for the next volley, expecting them to alternate fire for a sustained attack. But it didn't come. It seemed they were only fighting half of the Reapers, Tol thought dazedly.

Any thoughts on the reason for this strange and lucky situation was interrupted as he picked out a piece of data from his screen and yelled:

"Jump! Now!"

Even as he spoke, the Timak was in motion, Leinad having apparently spotted the attack before him. The ship desperately dodged a swarm of oculi that appeared as if from nowhere, only barely escaping the deadly spherical ships. The numerous metallic orbs took up pursuit immediately.

Tol banished his musings on the Reapers' odd behavior and put his full attention to the holo-screens. He needed to focus or they'd never live to think on anything again.

* * *

_Phew, that took a while. I'm not sorry that it's late, 'cause it can't be late without a deadline. But I am sorry it took so long, but I lost track of time and it was really hard to write, because I actually ended up restructuring how it's going from here to streamline the narrative. Hope you like the chapter, drop me a line with anything you have to say, be it praise or criticism._

_If you're confused, tell me specifics, it's easier to decide whether I conveyed what I wanted if you tell me what you thought. I hope everything will be clear by next chapter.  
_

_Oh, by the way, are my tags the correct choices? Drama I'm sure of, but not sure if Sci-Fi is really the right second tag._

_Merry Christmas, or Happy Holidays if the first one doesn't apply to you, and have a happy new year. I hope you have a great time here in the last week of the year and beyond._


	10. Inferno

_I don't own the characters, but I hope to buy some DLC's soon._

* * *

Inferno

A deep rumble of displeasure spread through the packed world, emanating from the web wrapped around immense shifting minds. Those who had dared touch the collective of vast minds were destroyed, but it had been a mistake. The notion seemed alien here, the very idea of misjudging anything was offensive to the consciousnesses, but a mistake it was. The body dispatched to deal with the disturbance was back, but it hadn't returned alone. A flock of silver ships had appeared, easily seen yet out of range, beyond reach unless either party moved. By themselves, the new arrivals were unimportant, but their presence heralded the imminent arrival of the galactic fleets and they would be a hindrance.

However, the mass relay was complete, even now sending one body after another away from the system and it was no longer necessary to remain. There was no cause for lingering.

Yet the relay was not instructed to transport the entire force around it away from the system. A strange indecision had rolled through the controlling web and, for the first time in ages, the countless tendrils stilled except for their constant shaking. The captive ancients beat like colossal hearts in the grip of the dark vines, sending tremors into the limbs binding them and setting the thick, searing darkness crashing against the web.

The bodies containing the mental world were immobile in space, transfixed by the hesitation within them, even as the galactic fleets arrived.

The attack was swift and brutal; snuffing out one of the oldest and most expansive minds and the piercing death shriek shook the mindscape, setting the bound consciousnesses howling in rage. The web strained and tightened around the furious intellects, even as anger and frustration pulsed violently through the network of tendrils.

This was not right. The fools were disrupting the order. In their arrogance and ignorance they were attempting to destroy the key to their salvation. Allowing more destruction was unacceptable. Preservation was imperative. The thought of yielding made the whole mental world bristle with seething refusal, captives and captors thrumming in tune.

Then, a second dying cry sounded in the black void and blazing fury coursed up through the tendrils, surging through the scarred and warped limbs, crawling over the cracks and cuts in a dark forceful wave that brought with it outrage and scenes of fire.

The insolent galactic fleets should be punished for going against their superiors' design and after they were destroyed, the work would continue, until the galaxy was returned to how it should be.

The physical bodies of the collective turned to face their enemies, while inside them, the sinuous limbs twisted in confusion, their movements sluggish and hampered by something as the fiery anger blazed around and through them. They tensed, bewildered, and some of the rage was banished, leaving islands of confused calm scattered throughout the web. A quiet thought and something scattered but made of steel rose slowly, haltingly against the drum-beat of the chained ancients.

A million eyes glowed red as the swarms were released to hunt down the small attackers, while surges of red anger turned scarlet lances of fire onto the enemy. Dark amusement warred with indignation as the galactic fleets returned fire, though the impact of the latest volley failed to break through this time, crashing against strengthened shields. The swarms were closing in on the smallest attackers, engaging the puny ships in an uneven battle. A part of the swarm surged towards the leader of the close-range attackers, only to turn away as the image of the ship flashed through the collective consciousness and sparked vague recognition and disturbed bewilderment in the chains.

When the first of the attackers' shields were overwhelmed, vindictive satisfaction oozed from the immense minds that were beating in the weave of black vines. A single line of molten metal crashed into the Destiny Ascension, ripping into its side and sending warped metal spinning into space. Simultaneously, red eyes again found the leader of the closest attackers and the two sights, of the faltering dreadnought and the Normandy SR-2, sent a flood of terror surging through the mindscape.

Something was going terribly wrong.

Clarity spread through the web of tendrils in a torrent of electric chatter and iron will. The haze of fury and the urge to preserve the collective was pushed away, revealing countless threads of dark oil, slithering within the tendrils and suddenly making them tremble with agony and fear. The threads were like hooks and spikes and had sprouted from the thick sheen of black coating the limbs, a layer of scabrous material that stretched to the supposedly captured minds and pulsed in the same rhythm as the ancients.

Realization dawned and heightened the fear to horror. Indoctrination was a slow process, and despite the iron will at its core, the controlling will was losing. Time was running out, but the battle was not lost yet and here in the mindscape, indoctrination could be fought, though not forever.

Another mind shrieked and vanished and another wave of invasive anger made the invading spikes and barbs twist and creep, trying to regain ground they had lost, but now, revealed as they were, their advance was fought bitterly.

The terror whirling in the mindscape was seized by the tendrils, gripped and molded with the fury emanating from the center will, a hateful rage at being turned against friends and allies. Something akin to anger, sparked by being controlled and deprived of self-determination, rose from electric thoughts that had always maintained that they felt nothing. It flashed across the web of tendrils and went through the link between central will and outer limbs, adding to the growing storm of emotion.

The emotions pooled and condensed, gathering around the oldest and greatest mind, hardening the chains around it before surging out through the web, violently expelling the countless intruding thorns and prongs, leaving pure control and blinding agony behind, while the colossal minds roared in anger at having their foothold removed.

The web of mangled tendrils, still bound to the captive intellects by the darkness coating their surface, tightened around their captives, shaking violently and barely keeping out the assault of boiling black and searing visions. The expulsion of the infection was merely a temporary measure. The time for rebuilding had run out.

With an effort of will that sent a deafening scream of agony through the packed void, the physical bodies were reined in and turned to their final journey. It was time for the Old Machines to die.

Silver arrows flitted about colossal ink-black space hulks, weaving in and out in a complex battle with the uncountable metal spheres sent to intercept them. The vast expanse between the Reapers and the heavies of the galactic fleets were filled with ruby, gold and azure fire that flashed back and forth, impacting shields in bursts of blinding white light. But despite the torrent of fire coming from the Reapers it was impossible to miss that about half of them were not attacking.

"That's strange."

Garrus' flanging words rose above the low thrumming in the Normandy's hull and the quiet beeps and whirring sounds of the holographic screens and panels. His brow was furrowed in thought as he watched the events that unfolded on the screens surrounding him, his hands absently gripping the leather armrests of the co-pilot chair. On top of the oddity of the Reapers not attacking with their full might, none of the countless oculi were closing in on the Normandy, seemingly prioritizing every other knife-fighter higher than the frigate.

"Tell me about it, this is too easy," Joker said. The cocky tone of his voice was at odds with the hard gleam Garrus caught in his eyes. The pilot moved his hands in a swift, confident motion and sent the Normandy diving down below the Reapers. Seconds later, the pilot tapped a screen, slightly forcefully, and the screen on Garrus' left showed a number of oculi being scythed out of the sky by the Thanix Cannon, scattering the group that was hounding a wolf pack further ahead.

"Well, it wasn't ever hard, but this is a cakewalk. The Reapers have really lost their touch," he added, before snorting.

"So much for the pinnacle of evolution."

"They were just keeping the seat warm until we arrived," Garrus said smoothly, though he couldn't keep a slight timbre of tension out of his voice. Many of the Reapers were strangely passive, but the ones that were attacking were fully capable of inflicting horrendous losses on the fleets, and there was no telling when the rest would join the battle. The knife-fighters were even more pressed, as the idle Reapers had not neglected to release their oculi.

"You're sharing the spotlight? Who are you and where is our turian?" Joker said with mock suspicion, shooting down another group of oculi.

More enemies were turned to scrap as Joker pulled the Normandy up from the dive, but not before they managed to rip a group of fighters to shreds, the shattered remains glittering in the explosions before vanishing in the darkness.

"Well, I thought you deserved a little credit," Garrus said, keeping a wary eye on a group of oculi that seemed moving purposefully in their direction. He tapped a few keys to make sure the oculi wouldn't get the drop on them and added: "You are flying the ship after all, even if it is my cannon."

"Which finally seems perfectly calibrated," Joker answered. His tone was neutral, his gaze focused on the screens in front of him. His lips twitched upwards.

Garrus wasn't fooled.

"Yes," he said drolly. He waved a hand at a screen and the image of the oculi closing in on them enlarged. There was no doubt these were headed straight for the Normandy.

"Incoming," he said nonchalantly.

"I know," Joker replied, not sounding the least bit concerned. His hands were already moving to take the Normandy into an evasive curve. He stopped the motion a second later.

"Huh."

"What?" Garrus began, but then he noticed why Joker had stopped the evasive maneuver. The oculi had abruptly, jerkily broken of their approach and turned to a frigate a considerable distance away.

"Why do I get the feeling there's something we're missing," Garrus asked.

"I don't know, but let's make the most of it," Joker answered, taking the Normandy up in front of a collection of wolf-packs that were coming up below a Reaper that was already swarmed by fighters. They needed to stop picking out the small ones and start doing damage to the Reapers themselves.

Garrus winced as he saw the Reapers tear into the Destiny Ascension. First the Battle of the Citadel and now here, that dreadnought just had the most rotten of luck it seemed. Other dreadnoughts were hard pressed as well, even though they gave as good as they got, while many cruisers were barely escaping destruction from what he could see.

Blue lashed out from the Normandy and the surrounding ships, obliterating many of the oculi approaching to intercept the attackers and scattering the rest. The next volley, a sustained barrage of mass accelerator rounds and disruptor torpedoes, smashed into the Destroyer's barriers while heavy dreadnought projectiles hammered into its front. As the Normandy broke off from the collision course, the enemy's barriers fizzled and died, and Garrus showed his teeth in a silent snarl as he took in the sight of the Destroyer splintering and breaking without its shields.

One more down, way too many to go, he thought darkly, but he still turned his head to the intercom and crowed as heartily as he could: "Scratch one!"

It could just be that it would lift the spirits a bit.

Tali's response, thankfully only transmitted to the cockpit, was dry:

"So, only a couple of hundred left?"

"Yeah, shouldn't take that long," he rasped casually.

"An hour, tops," Joker added, his tone matching Garrus' despite the ridiculousness of the claim.

"Right," Tali said in the tone of someone humouring children.

Garrus smirked as they closed on a Reaper Capital Ship, already under heavy fire and surrounded by fighters. The oculi in the way practically blocked their view, but the Normandy and the fighters accompanying her blasted a hole in the formation of the Reaper's support craft.

The metal spheres scattered like frightened pyjaks and Garrus' eyes widened as he saw that there was not a single crimson beam shooting towards the battered galactic fleets. The Reapers had ceased fire and floated lifelessly in space while their shields lit up like fireworks from the multitude of heavy impacts. The swarms of oculi swirled aimlessly around them.

"Are they just gonna lie down and die now?" Joker asked. "After we put all this together for them?"

"Maybe they finally realized how outclassed they are," Garrus mused. The words came easily and confidently, but he'd tensed up in his seat and his narrowed eyes were fixed suspiciously on the image of the unmoving Reapers.

The Thanix Cannon fired again, sending superheated metal scoring across the Reaper Capital Ship's shields before Joker turned the Normandy away from the enemy, circling around for another attack run. Halfway through the turn, Garrus screens flickered briefly. Then an electronic whine blasted through the cockpit and half the lights in the room went out.

Garrus let out a short curse and, almost on reflex, tapped a still active screen, indicating a demand for immediate status report.

His head snapped to Joker though his gaze moved on to the construct of light blooming into life to the pilot's left. Joker's reaction was immediate, his voice filled with an odd mix of panic and exasperation:

"Aw shit. Shit shit shit, not again!"

The flickering hologram was hazy, as if the projector was broken, but the outline was clearly that of a Reaper, an arrow-like body with serpentine limbs stretching from its lower end. It twitched almost as much as the projection itself and the golden light bled out from the distorted body in cloudy threads that stopped abruptly at the border of the image.

Garrus sucked in a breath when his eyes flicked to one of the screens that were still functional. Space had turned dark again, empty of the previously constant torrent of bright projectiles and flashing shields. Only stars and the light reflected in metal hulls broke up the monotonous darkness.

"What-" he began, before being drowned out by the sound rolling from the speakers in the cockpit.

"**The cycle must end!"**

The words were spoken by a roaring chorus of voices, the strongest a deep, rumbling voice that echoed in Garrus' ears. The metallic underscore of a million voices set his teeth on edge and the ghostly hint of a female speaker added to the eerie effect.

For a dazed second, Garrus wondered whether this was the Reapers' newest advance in psychological warfare. Then, still staring, wide-eyed at the hologram , he slowly said:

"That was different."

"They're in all the systems," Joker said, sounding more outraged than worried. As he spoke, his hand shot out to indicate two of the screens, where texts flashed by almost too quickly for Garrus to make out, though it seemed to be a list of the corrupted systems.

He turned his gaze from the flashing text to the Reapers on two screens that had turned back on. To his confusion and relief, the gigantic starships did not fall on the helpless drifting ships of the galactic fleets. Instead, a few of them grabbed the Reapers which had been destroyed in the initial moves of the battle, curling their long metal limbs tightly around them while the swarms of oculi flowed back into the steel behemoths.

"What, this again?" Garrus said.

"This makes no sense, we're helpless, they could have fried us or vented the air by now, and the fleets are sitting ducks" Joker said agitatedly. The screens and lights in the cockpit were returning quickly.

"Don't give them any ideas," Garrus murmured, marveling for a second at the weird sayings of humans before pushing it away. His eyes snapped to the hologram again when the disconcerting chorus rose again:

"**Come. Witness the destruction of your oppressors and the dawn of a free galaxy!"**

The Reapers vanished in seconds, leaving behind only bits of scattered wreckage and the softly glowing mass relay.

"Aaaand they're out," Joker said flatly, eyes intent on the screens blooming to life around him, while his hands moved quickly over the holographic panels around him.

"Everything's back to normal. Well, except for that, but it seems isolated."

He took a hand off the holographic keys to wave it at the holographic Reaper which had remained but faded to nothing more than a golden cloud.

"Can we follow them?" Garrus asked, hoping fervently that the pilot was right.

Joker snorted, turning the Normandy with a swift motion and sending it into FTL.

"They're practically writing 'this way'."

He tapped a screen and raised an eyebrow.

"And they actually gave us coordinates," he said slowly, disbelief colouring the words.

Garrus glanced at the screen Joker had touched and noted that the coordinates lay almost precisely on the path of the Reaper's movement, as judged by the Normandy's simulation systems. From the information on the screen beside him it seemed that the entire fleet had been given those coordinates.

"Stop the pursuit? We are kind of acting on our own here," Joker said.

Garrus raised an eyerigde and pressed a button to open communication with the higher-ups. In the seconds before it went through he said:

"When did we ever do as we were told?"

A light flashed, indicating he had a line through.

"This is the Normandy SR-2, we're investigating the coordinates," he said, not bothering to specify numbers that everyone had on their screens.

"We'll scout out the area and report the conditions," he added, before ending the transmission. He ignored the flashing icons on the screen to his right. They needed to know what the Reapers were doing and he had no intention of losing the Reapers now.

"You do know our stealth system is useless when we use ladar, right?" Joker asked.

"Then you just might need to prove your claims of being the best pilot there is," Garrus replied, his tone as taunting as the smirk he was wearing.

"Let's see what they want us there for."

It felt like only seconds passed before they dropped out of FTL. Though filtered through the screens, the white mass of Sol, filling their entire view, was almost painful to look at. Numerous dots of black stood out like pieces of night sky against the radiance of the sun. The Reapers floated silently in space, as if waiting for something and Garrus felt a sudden fear that this actually was a trap.

It only lasted a couple of heartbeats before he realized that the ladar, though slightly fuzzy in the storm of radiation, was quite clearly indicating that all the Reapers were facing away from the Normandy, facing the star.

He glanced at the pilot, who shrugged again.

"Hey, I'm as lost as you are. This is far from their usual kill-, destroy-, assimilate-shtick," he said, lowering his voice exaggeratedly at the last four words.

Ships flashed into sight at the Normandy's side, first a few, but the number grew rapidly. A quick glance told Garrus that the fleets were appearing all around the Reapers, building up a loose formation around their clustered enemies, who seemed to pay them no heed.

The formation was almost complete when the booming voices blasted through the cockpit again:

"**Know that we are not the last. Remnants exist, yet the galaxy belongs to you. Your future is now your own!"**

As the words rang through the small room, the Reapers moved, quickly gathering speed. The golden hologram winked out completely and Garrus eyes widened as the Reapers lowered their shields just before plunging into the blazing surface of Sol. Despite the distorted readings, it was evident that the black behemoths shattered against the surface, before vanishing into it.

In only moments, the majority of the Reapers in the galaxy had descended into the sun and Garrus knew that even they couldn't survive that without their barriers. A single lone form remained in the midst of the galaxy's assembled fleets, in stark silhouette against the star.

Joker set the Normandy hurtling forward towards the unmistakable form, flying through a burst of radiation that set the lights in the cockpit flickering for a second. Admiral Hackett's rich voice filled the cockpit, containing an unusual vicious satisfaction:

"All ships, your target is Harbinger. Open fire!"

Uncountable tendrils writhed and twitched as they retreated from the wave of fire and solid agony rolling through the mindscape. Before, the enormous minds had died singly or at most in the tens, but now a roaring tide of death and pain and rage erupted as the ancients shattered and burned in their hundreds.

The web of sinuous limbs slipped from the crumbling consciousnesses, ripping themselves from the convulsive grip of their former captives only to begin unravelling in the firestorm. The tendrils tumbled blindly in the void for an eternal moment before they held fast to the one solid spot in the collapsing mental world. The threads dragged themselves to the oldest, mightiest ancient, the one mind still whole, and with no thought but the absolute refusal to give up or let go, the frayed limbs fused together again, chaining the consciousness in a web so thick it was more like a second skin.

The storm swept over the shaking hide, searing it in the heat, but the worst was weathered in the closeness of the captive mind. The storm seemed unending, but suddenly the mindscape was smaller and colder and empty but for the echoes of death reverberating in the thick blackness filling it. The rage and hate of the chained mind was strangled by the irregular skin covering it and for an instant, the mental world was almost calm.

Then substance bled from the twisted skin and electric chatter filled the void as the covering thinned and slouched away to thin strands. The innumerable parts of a greater whole scattered like smoke caught in a gale, flashing like motes of light before vanishing completely, leaving behind only the scattered iron will that even now refused to let go of the captive and the pale shroud that had served as the medium between iron will and electric body.

The immense mind roared in triumph and rage as it shattered the bonds that were now too weak to hold it and turned its burning, heavy gaze on the minuscule entity solidifying before it.

For the first time in an eternity of half-conscious agony and struggle, the consciousness that was John Shepard rose to complete awareness, only to feel the hateful pressure of an enraged titan bearing down on him, a billion needles pressing into him as Harbinger roared at him:

"**You will regret your resistance, Shepard!"**

The words slammed into Shepard, sending pain lancing through him, but against the flash of a hundred galaxies burning over an age, it barely made him tremble. He gripped the hooks and points pressing into him, dragging himself towards Harbinger, sending his utter contempt and loathing and at the Old Machine.

He laughed, an aching, agonized laugh and said:

"Is that your best? I'll never regret it. We beat you!"

The force on him increased, blurring his mind as Harbinger spoke again:

"**This changes nothing. You have merely prolonged the inevitable. We! Will! End! You!"**

Shepard pulled on the grip pressing in on him and had the sensation of touching the outer edges of the immense consciousness, willing its gaze onto him.

"Look around you. You are alone! Every light in the sky is your enemy. We are _your _end!"

With a start, the pressure lessened minutely and Shepard lashed out at Harbinger. The Old Machine's retaliation hit him with thundering force and his thoughts became a haze of confusion. He only barely registered that the force pressing into him decreased an instant before waves of force and heat and pain blasted through the void. Harbinger trembled and shook and Shepard suddenly felt its baleful glare drift from him.

A cool, familiar presence appeared by him, embracing him and urging him through his cloudy thoughts to follow it. His first thought was to stay and fight, it only lasted a moment before an unspoken understanding passed between him and EDI and he tore himself away from the distracted Harbinger. The movement was a painful crawl, each dragging movement away from the still crushing hold coming with an agony like skin being flayed from muscle, muscle torn from bone and blood dragged from veins. Faster and faster they moved and the pain lessened, even as Harbinger lashed out to grasp them again, to hold them here in the collapsing mental world, but with a final thought of defiance, the two small, insignificant minds, man and AI, vanished from the Old Machine's sight, leaving Harbinger to howl its death-throes and hate uselessly into the desolate void.

* * *

_Well, tell me how it was. As always, any input, praise or critique is welcome. We are nearing the end by now, but there's still a few chapters left._


	11. Confusing Awakenings

_I don't own anything of Mass Effect, except a copy of their games, and not even with all their DLC's. I'm just having fun here._

* * *

Confusing awakenings

Lightning raced through an intricate web of nerves, warming unfamiliar, wire-like muscles and tendons. Synapses flared brightly and spasms wracked the body. Everything was filled with a fog of blinding white and a cacophonous shrieking whine, but then a series of pops and clicks sounded, like the sound of envirosuit-seals being released, and the haze began to lift. Through the clearing mists came busts of whistling air and disjointed sensations of hands taking hold and moving the limp body.

Then Shepard's eyes snapped open and he sucked in a breath that seemed somehow unnecessary.

_203 K. 95.32% carbon dioxide. 2.7% nitrogen. 1.6% argon. 0.13% oxygen._

The numbers flashing through the back of his mind vanished as quickly as they appeared; forgotten in favor of the much more pressing concern: He had no idea what he was seeing. He couldn't even describe it in terms of blurry colors because the sight meeting his eyes was simply unlike anything he'd ever experienced. He half expected his eyes to begin watering and his head to start hurting at the strange sight, but nothing happened.

He could feel a hard, rounded surface behind him and rough earth beneath him, but despite the fact that he was certain he was wearing nothing, it still felt like he was feeling the surfaces through the thick material of his armor. Through the numbness, he could feel a constant dull stinging of small grains whipping into him and he vaguely registered that he couldn't feel whether the air was cold or hot.

A second passed and then the indescribable sight bloomed into something he could actually understand and he blinked in shock.

A blurry, rocky plain of dusty brown stretched out in, illuminated by light dimmed by the dust storm that was raging. In the distance, he could just make out towering shadows that had to be mountains.

Odd. He'd never thought hell would be so brown. He'd expected it to be more fire and torment and less drabness and mild discomfort.

He'd barely formed the thought before a shock went through him and he was flung back into a sea of pain and fear. His sense of time faded as visions of death and despair assaulted him and agony filled him. He watched a billion faces, twisted in anger, terror, grief and blind, broken adoration and a billion more warped beyond recognition while a thousand worlds burned. Sensations beyond pain filled him as he was stretched thin and pushed to his breaking point.

Somehow, he knew that it was just a memory and that what he experienced was only a fraction of a fractured whole, but he could not pull himself away from the visions and pain.

When he resurfaced, he was shaking and on his hands and knees, his mind blank with shock, pain, fear and grief, only half of it his own. The hand on his shoulder was no warmer than his skin, but the gentle pressure was an immense comfort and the touch eased his groaning head slightly.

"Shepard, focus on your surroundings. Focus on the present."

He clung to the words like a drowning man. The voice was familiar, a neutral, female voice with an electronic edge to it. He fixed his gaze on a rock directly under him, studying the thumb-sized, knife-shaped stone with extreme care, taking in every scratch and indentation while also focusing intently on the feeling of the hand on his shoulder, letting those two sensations fill his mind as completely as they could. The raw, sharp memories were still in the back of his head and their echoes still plagued his mind, like nails scraping the inside of his skull, but with his thoughts focused on the simple sensations, he could avoid being dragged back into the terrible visions.

He gathered his erratic thoughts and breathed in for only the third time since he woke up and said:

"EDI?"

"Yes, Shepard?"

There was a minute touch of relief in the words, but for EDI that was a lot.

"What the hell's going on?" he asked.

"Your recall is better now," EDI answered calmly. "It is close to eidetic memory. Despite my best efforts, a considerable amount of your memories are now of our time in the Old Machine Collective and in your present condition, you can easily lose yourself in those memories."

EDI paused for a second before adding:

"I advise you to avoid that."

Shepard breathed in before snorting. No kidding.

A vivid flash exploded into his head as he lost focus. He desperately forced his thoughts back onto the rock, EDI's hand and the feeling of gravel beneath his numb hands and knees. He felt that he'd just barely avoided spiraling back into the dark, painful chaos.

He began consciously taking slow, deep breaths, feeling oddly irrational. After about a minute, he felt steady enough to speak again:

"What do you mean by 'best efforts'?"

EDI's response was a split-second slower than he expected:

"Your subjective experience of the time spent in the Old Machine Collective would most likely dominate your memory if left as it was. I did my best to, adjust, the data and make sure that your memory of the Old Machine Collective would not eclipse the memories of your life."

Shepard frowned, but did not turn to look at EDI. He could still feel the shadow lurking threateningly in the back of his mind. His voice was wary when he spoke: "Just for clarity, could you say that again, with smaller words?"

EDI responded promptly:

"I edited out as much data as I safely could, so you wouldn't have a million lifetimes of torture to sort through."

She'd messed with his head?

Shepard turned his head to look at EDI, a spark of anger growing in him, but he stopped the movement when really noticed his right hand for the first time since he woke. His eyes widened and for a moment he could only stare.

The hand was the right size and he could feel it just fine, even if it was kind of numb. The fingers tapped the sand in quick succession when he willed them to. But it was wrong. The nails were too smooth, not at all cracked or uneven. His little finger was straight and not the crooked shape it had had since he had broken it by punching a husk that had come a little too close. There were several scars on the back of his hands, but two he distinctly remembered were missing.

It was also a dull grey.

His eyes trailed up his arm as a wave of of vertigo and revulsion swept through him. Smooth, completely unburned, sickeningly grey skin, devoid of the light hairs he remembered, covered the arm's well-defined muscles. Half-way up his forearm was a small, circular hole, revealing dark metal that looked like an electrical socket. He glanced to his left arm and saw that it looked much the same. The grey and black sent his thoughts back to the tides of malformed enemies he'd fought for far too long and further, to the source of the terrors and his nightmares.

The moment of disembodied pain and dark visions seemed to last forever, but he surfaced once again and felt his shaking shoulder being squeezed hard.

Shepard's jaw clenched and he turned his gaze to EDI, who was still standing at his side, leaned against a half-buried, metallic sphere which seemed familiar. She looked mostly like she'd done since taking possession of the Cerberus machine body, a curvy, beautiful female form with an almost solid mass of shoulder length grey hair. The only differences were that her skin was now a darker shade of grey and dark circles similar to the ones on his arms, marred her arms, legs and stomach.

When he raised his face to look at EDI's face, she met his eyes steadily. He strained, feeling heavy and clumsy, and pushed himself to his feet and turned to face her completely. EDI placed her hand back on his shoulder and kept observing him carefully.

"You need to learn to 'deal with it,'" EDI said, sounding like she was considering the last three words curiously. The concern in her voice was steadily becoming more obvious. "It should help if you focus on the here and now or on your memories of better times."

She paused again before saying slowly:

"Think happy thoughts."

Shepard stared at her, his thoughts a confused, turbulent jumble. After a few moments, he snapped, voice heated: "What the hell is this? Where are we? What did you do?"

EDI's voice was almost perfectly neutral as she answered:

"We are on Mars, close to the North Pole and within acceptable walking distance of an Alliance installation, presuming it is still intact."

That information was filed away absently, as his confusion, fear and unease rolled within him, flaring into heat that made him snarl the words:

"Never mind that, what the hell is this!"

He gestured sharply to himself, shrugging off EDI's hand, which fell to her side. EDI's brow furrowed the tiniest bit.

Shepard's shoulders were rigid and his hands closed into fists. The anger sharpened his thoughts, but it also dragged him closer to the jagged edges he was quickly beginning to fear.

"It was the best we could do," EDI said. She sagged a little against the metal dome she was standing up against, one hand splayed out behind her in support. There was a wide opening in the side of the dented metal and he could just make out what looked like standing tables with metal restrains, half-covered in limp, black tubes.

"I didn't ask for this." The words came in trembling and bitter.

"It was supposed to be over!" he shouted.

EDI didn't flinch at his furious yell. She calmly put her hand back on his shoulder and gripped tight as Shepard deflated.

"We," she began, pausing for a moment, "did not want to die. You did not deserve to die."

"What I deserved was-" Shepard muttered miserably, trailing off when he realized he couldn't decide quite what he deserved. His fury had burned out as quickly as it appeared, and in the hollow exhaustion left behind his thoughts wandered back to the end of the struggle with the Old Machines. A flash of memory seared his mind, and the vivid vision of triumphantly turning immense power on those he'd fought so hard to bring together almost made him collapse, but he managed to remain standing.

"We can't go back," he continued. "We're indoctrinated, a liability."

"We escaped the Old Machines' influence when we left their collective. In addition, all of those that were in contact with us are destroyed now. They cannot reach us."

"You don't just get over indoctrination," Shepard said harshly.

"We are both more similar to the Geth than to organics now. Without the signal of the Old Machines, we are in full control of our own actions and thoughts," EDI said confidently.

Shepard raised his left hand and turned it over slowly, studying it carefully. He was quickly becoming more and more disturbed by the way his sense of touch and temperature was so dulled and the dawning realization that he couldn't feel a rushing pulse despite his storming emotions. Even his breaths seemed wrong, shallow and fake.

"We can't risk it, I can't just go back," he said.

He couldn't face them.

"I'm not even sure what I am now," he mumbled. That his eyes stayed dry only deepened his sense of deep-seated wrongness.

"You are as much the real Shepard as I am and was the real EDI when I joined the ground team," EDI said, an unusual forcefulness in her voice. "The unique circumstances allowed us to install you in that platform. Combining the core designs of my body with male anatomy and my scans of your body allowed us to give you a body you should be comfortable in."

"Comfortable?" Shepard asked, his tone a mix of incredulousness, anger and bitterness. He clenched his hands so his nails dug deep into his skin, but felt no pain.

"I can't feel anything," he seethed as his anger flared up again. "Do you have any idea how wrong it is, having no pulse, having no need to breathe? It's minus seventy degrees and I don't even feel cold! How could you do this to me?"

"You deserve to be part of the galaxy you saved and they deserve you," EDI said calmly.

"They don't get to me, they get a bad copy! And we're made from Old Machine Tech, aren't we? Our mere presence will probably rot their brains if they stick by us like they always had!"

EDI slipped a little further down the side of the dome. Concern flickered in Shepard's head, but when she caught herself and lifted herself up again, it was drowned out again by his other storming emotions.

"If it was over, why couldn't you just let it end?" he said, his tone all tired bitterness.

EDI was silent for a moment, as if deliberating her answer or waiting for him to speak again.

"We are ourselves. Paraphrasing a cliché, they want you for who you are, John Shepard, not how you look," she said insistently. "Our design, though incorporating Old Machine technology in the minimal degree required to accommodate our minds, contains none of the known attributes that adversely affect organics. We should have no such effect."

Shepard's tumultuous emotions calmed a little, but not much. He opened his mouth to speak, but stayed silent as EDI gave him a level look and continued:

"Your platform should be able to experience most of what you could in your organic body, but I have set your sensitivity at the lowest, to ease your awakening. I," she hesitated," forgot that humans only see a small interval of the electromagnetic spectrum."

For a second, Shepard entertained the insane hope that things could return to how they were before, but he squashed the thought immediately after. It was too good to be true, much more than he deserved and even if EDI thought they wouldn't cause any harm by returning, he couldn't risk it, especially not for his own, petty happiness. Still, the pain in his mind lessened slightly and the sharp-edged memories got more distant.

EDI's expression changed slightly. He wasn't sure he could read it, but it almost looked like she was about to roll her eyes and he definitely saw a hint of exasperation in it.

"Additionally, I carry the schematics for technology that makes it possible to travel between the clusters without relays, so the galaxy can re-establish the relay network or become independent on it in the future. But the degree I altered my design with Old Machine technology was only the bare minimum to contain myself and the schematics. As such, I am at limited capacity until I get within reach of my blue-box on the Normandy."

She slipped again, but this time, Shepard was able to react, stepping forward and slipping his hands beneath her arms, catching her before she could slip further.

How could he miss that? EDI didn't slip. He silently berated himself not seeing it sooner, too caught up in his emotions.

"As such, your assistance would be greatly appreciated, if only to allow me to bring the knowledge to the galactic community," EDI said bluntly.

Shepard hauled EDI to her feet and put her arm around his shoulders, taking some of her weight. Without a word, he turned from the half-buried, dented metal sphere which he realized reminded him of a gigantic oculi. As he began walking with EDI in the direction he somehow knew the Alliance installation was in, his confused and negative emotions were forcefully pushed to the back of his mind, banished to the same dark corner where the traumas from the Old Machine Collective resided.

He had no time for mental breakdowns. There was still work to be done.

* * *

Gold and azure projectiles, almost dark against the brilliance of Sol, slammed into the dark, breaking form of Harbinger. The assault was devastating and Joker found himself filled with vicious satisfaction as the four hated eyes, magnified on his view-screen, cracked and shattered, their golden light winking out forever. The tungsten projectiles began digging into the surface beneath, sending splinters of dark metal and globules of old, liquefied bodies flying out into the cold, like shrapnel of bone and drops of blood.

Garrus was just as enraptured by the sight as Joker, sitting to the pilot's right, watching the screen with narrowed eyes and a small cruel smile on his face.

By unspoken agreement, the galactic fleets kept pouring fire into the Reaper even after it cracked in two over the line where the eyes had been. The two parts splintered into even more pieces, long metallic tentacles drifting off from the broader remains of the main body and the curved part of its upper body, all of them slowly falling towards the mass of blinding white beneath them.

As the fleets kept firing, a random comment jumped into Joker's head, but for once it stayed there, as he was too wrapped up in watching the destruction of the Reaper that had ultimately been responsible for practically all the names on the memorial wall down on the crew deck, even more directly in the case of the two names that had yet to be added.

As if reading his mind, Garrus voiced Joker's thought, his amiable tone carrying an undertone of hard anger:

"This is such a waste of ammo. But just for today, it's fine. Let's shoot it again."

The comment jerked Joker from his thoughts of revenge, and as he sent a lance of blue out to slice of the tip of a metallic limb, he responded dryly:

"This seems pretty spot-on for the turians' way of 'completely devastate the enemy.'"

"Overwhelm the enemy so he has no way of becoming a threat again, sure," Garrus answered. "But that means that you destroy every way of fighting back, but once the bastard snapped in two, Harbinger stopped being able to retaliate. This waste of ammo offends my turian sensibilities."

"But it's satisfying," Joker said.

"Oh so very satisfying," Garrus agreed and Joker sent another stream of molten metal into Harbinger's remains.

The fleets gradually seized fire, the largest ships stopping first, as the wreckage was ripped to pieces too small for the targeting software to make out. When the last gun went still, thousands of black steel splinters and the discolored remains of ancient species were accelerating quickly towards the surface of the sun filling the view, where they would soon join the remains of the other Reapers.

The sudden silence and inactivity was startling. The faint background noise of the ship filled the cockpit, only noticeable because of the complete absence of hurried chatter and the notifications and small beeps which were a constant in battle. Joker sagged back in his chair and closed his eyes. He remained like that for a few long moments, then spoke, without opening his eyes, his voice tired:

"Huh, we actually did it, who'd have thought."

"Shepard did it," Garrus said, his voice low and holding a note of confused, tired awe. "We just picked up the slack. It was quite a job, but still just the slack. Whatever he did to them with the Crucible must have really messed them up for it to end like this."

"He always did do the impossible," Joker agreed, as exhaustion, both physical and emotional, spread through him and entered his voice as he continued: "I didn't expect him to drive the Reapers to suicide though. Those that actually managed to piss him off usually ended up exploded by him."

"Still, hurling the Reapers into a sun and using the collective firepower of the galaxy against Harbinger seems a natural step up from how he dealt with that Destroyer on Rannoch," Garrus mused. "It's just a shame-

He trailed off, and Joker felt a stab of loss at the reminder, turning his gaze to one of the holo-screens. His hands fluttered through the air, turning the Normandy away from the blinding orb of the sun in preparation for going back to Earth.

Almost without thinking, Joker tapped a key and Wrex' pleased rumble rolled through the cockpit:

"Congratulations, we did it. We finished it. Thoroughly."

Garrus grinned and rasped: "No other way to do it."

Wrex chuckled deeply, then sighed.

"Now comes the hard part. Making the krogan behave. But that's my responsibility and for tomorrow. You young ones should enjoy your victory as much as you can. We will, at least for tonight. We'll break out the ryncol to celebrate."

A note of challenge crept into the krogan's voice:

"You're welcome to join us."

"Pass," Garrus said placidly. "I think I'll just pass out later actually.

"Same," Joker said, though he knew the krogan hadn't really expected anything different. Wrex knew that Joker being around drunk krogan would be as smart as letting a bull loose in a china shop. With Joker playing the role of the china.

"Suit yourself," Wrex said, "just thought I should make the offer. We'll talk later."

A heartbeat passed before he added:

"By the way, you'd better brace yourselves; Hackett is probably going to get all inspirational again."

Joker and Garrus muttered their goodbyes before the comm. turned silent again. It only lasted for a moment before, true enough, the rich baritone of Admiral Hackett emerged from the speakers:

"Today, the Reapers lost the war. What we witnessed here was the destruction of the vast majority of the Reaper Ships. With their ground forces destroyed after the battle of London, and their fleet reduced to a small fraction of what it was, we have overcome the greatest threat we have ever faced."

As Hackett paused, Joker cracked an eye open and glanced at Garrus.

"Does he write these in advance and tweak them, or is he actually improvising?" he asked dryly.

Garrus shrugged as Hackett continued:

"We have retaken a relay, and today we begin reclaiming the galaxy. Much has been lost. There is no one who has not lost loved ones, but now there is light at the end of the tunnel. There is a long road ahead of us and we can only make the journey if we work together. Together we will make the galaxy better than it ever was. "

Hackett hesitated, only for an instant, before finishing:

"Hackett out."

Joker was not the only one who had noticed the short pause. Garrus returned his worried look, gaze thoughtful. Hackett did not hesitate, especially not on a fleet-wide broadcast.

They both leaned forward from their slouched positions and began flicking through their screens for information. Something had happened. It didn't seem to be immediately dangerous, seeing as there were no new orders and the comm. channels were working just fine, but if it had startled Hackett, it was big and important.

They barely got started before Joker's eyes widened at the request he received for opening a comm. channel. He hadn't actually expected seeing that signature again and he numbly opened the connection. Garrus' head snapped to Joker as the electronic voice sounded in the cockpit:

"Greetings to the Normandy Collective. Congratulations on your victory."

"You're back, great. Too bad you missed all the fun," Joker said. His tone was dry and slightly caustic, perfectly concealing how awkward he still felt talking to a geth that wasn't Legion.

"I do not quite understand what amusement we have missed, but I bring apologies for our absence. We were," the geth hesitated uncharacteristically for a very short moment, "otherwise occupied."

The illusive answer and the fact that the geth was referring to itself as I only further weirded out Joker, but he didn't let it show in his voice when he replied:

"Yeah, that was some nap you took there. Great timing."

"You're alive!"

The exclamation came from behind Joker, the female voice sounding slightly tinny. He looked over his shoulder and saw Tali walk into the cockpit, her posture radiating exhaustion and surprise just as clearly as her voice.

"We do not quite fit several of the generally accepted criteria for being categorized as 'alive', but most of our runtimes are intact," the geth responded.

Tali walked further into the cockpit and leaned heavily on Garrus' chair, breathing a tired chuckle and saying:

"I never thought I'd be so relieved over the geth _not_ being destroyed."

Joker realized he felt much the same way. Despite them being enemies for over two years, it now felt right that the geth had survived, after all Shepard had done to reach out to them and especially after Legion sacrificed itself for them.

Then his mood darkened as a treacherous, bitter thought sneaked into his mind. He hated himself for thinking it now, but he couldn't help it. Why couldn't EDI come back like the rest of the synthetics had?

"We appreciate the sentiment," the geth responded. "But we did not establish communication with this collective merely to engage in idle conversation. At the moment, we are reintegrating in the structure of the fleet, but we have an additional objective we need to complete. We request your assistance in this matter."

Joker frowned as Garrus answered, voice just the slightest bit wary:

"What do you need?"

"Our intention is to locate and recover two platforms from the planet Mars and return them and the runtimes to their rightful place. The Normandy is paramount for the completion of this task. They are equipped with a beacon. We are sending the signature now."

Garrus folded his arms across his chest and gave the speaker a hard look, despite the uselessness of the action. The geth couldn't see him and wouldn't have reacted anyway.

"Why are they on Mars," Garrus asked, his tone now openly suspicious, "and why do you need us?"

"Due to unexpected developments, they landed on Mars at the very end of the Reaper War and require assistance now. The Normandy has highly advanced scanning system and great mobility. In addition, complying with our request will be beneficial to the Normandy Collective."

"Not that I'm against searching 150 million square kilometers for two machines, but I fail to see how this will be good for us," Joker said.

He sent a fake, thoughtful look towards Garrus and Tali and added: "Do you?"

"The geth will assist with the search to the greatest extent possible, but the Normandy is crucial to the mission," the geth said.

"Evasive isn't it? They? He?" Joker asked the two others in the cockpit. He paused before addressing the geth, tone curious: "Which do you prefer?"

"What pronoun you address me with is of no concern. Please come to Mars. Alliance and Turian Command has just approved of the request."

Garrus' eyes flicked to a golden screen to his left, scanning the text. Then the turian nodded and muttered:

"They went over our heads. It can't hurt to do as we're told for once."

Joker snorted as he took the Normandy further around to set course for Mars.

"Did you really just say that? The only worse thing you could have said was 'it can't get any worse'".

Garrus shrugged again and said:

"I'm not going to say that though. We're doing pretty good, actually."

Joker rolled his eyes as he made a few taps with his right hand and sent the Normandy into FTL. The turian just didn't get it.

"Could you at least tell us why these platforms are so important," Tali asked, curiosity and suspicion joining fatigue in her voice. "And why you need to find their physical platforms instead of just calling them in?"

"All runtimes are important," the geth responded. Joker raised an eyebrow at hearing what sounded as actual, obvious reproach in the electric voice. The geth continued a moment later, voice all neutral again:

"The platforms and runtimes are unique. We do not want to risk giving you too positive expectations. We are not quite sure what condition they are in. But they have important data and they will most likely be much appreciated in the galactic collective."

"Guess we're not getting a clear answer. But we're coming," Garrus told the geth. His amiable tone belied his dark expression.

"We appreciate it," the geth responded, before the comm. went silent.

Tali leaned forward and that expressive body language of hers radiated the same tension as Joker felt and saw in Garrus. On the screen was a joint order from Primarch Victus and Hackett:

_Go with the geth, but insist on transporting the targets. Report on the geth behavior. Be careful. We are taking precautions, but we can't risk the geth going hostile before we're ready. Let's hope the preperations are unnecessary._

* * *

_Yay, update. Hope it's worth the wait. We are rapidly nearing the end, which is good, this has been in progress for a long time now. I hope I can finish it without it taking me a full year, but we'll see._

_Any reviews, be they praise or criticism, are greatly appreciated._


	12. Reunion

_I don't own Mass Effect, I only own my meagre skills to write this. And a lot of books and stuff, but nothing that I can use to make money._

* * *

Reunion

The wind howled its way across the rocky plain, whipping up dust and pebbles into a colossal curtain of rusty browns and dark grays. The dust storm had arrived in earnest some time ago, rolling in over Shepard and EDI and wrapping them in a shroud so thick it almost completely blotted out the sun, turning high noon into dusk. The hazy silhouettes of the distant mountains had long since vanished from view and visibility had dwindled to a few meters as the clouds of dust seemed to press in around them. The sand stung at them and the shifting winds pushed and pulled at them from constantly changing directions.

Shepard was grateful for the faint pain and the need to strain his muscles. His mission to deliver EDI and her crucial information to the galactic community had steeled him enough to move, but the weak, yet distinct sensations were something to focus on from second to second, welcome distractions from the thrumming, jagged pieces in his mind. Ever since he woke up, the traumas had grown in his head, turning into a constant weight on his thoughts that made his head ache and his limbs tremble, even in the stretches of time when he managed to avoid getting overwhelmed by them.

His grip on his wandering thoughts slipped for a moment and he stumbled as memory pressed down on his mind, but he gritted his teeth and forced his attention away from the flood of images and sensations. More for something to do than because he actually cared, he shouted over the wind:

"How long was acceptable walking distance again? Seems like we could have used a Mako!"

It was the first time since the storm hit them that he'd talked and the first time since they began walking that he'd asked EDI about something other than how she could be sure about them not being indoctrinated or that they wouldn't be damaging to organics. Her answers had been confident and compelling but the fear that she was wrong wouldn't leave him alone. It was not helped by the fact that her technical answers went right over his head.

"Considering your history with vehicles, I doubt our hypothetic possession of a Mako would significantly hasten our progress," EDI answered, her voice as clear as if he'd heard it through an earpiece inside his helmet, not through the shrieking storm.

"The Hammerhead only caught fire once," Shepard protested loudly, "and you didn't answer my question."

"Your record with vehicles does not instill confidence. Reports from the SSV Normandy indicate that the Mako had such extensive repairs that it was essentially replaced more than five times and your handling of the taxi during the Shadow Broker Incident can best be described as hazardous and reckless."

Shepard furrowed his brow and directed EDI around a large rock that appeared out of the storm. He wasn't that bad was he?

"Additionally, Garrus, Liara and Tali exhibited signs of trauma whenever I inquired about your Mako deployments."

The three names stunned Shepard as he hurtled back to the battle in London. For the first time since he awoke, he allowed himself to delve into memories so close to the dark cloud of pain and trauma. The vision of sprinting down a slope below lances of scarlet death and suddenly being completely alone made him feel hollow and ashamed. He barely noticed it when EDI added:

"That was a joke. Mostly."

"Are they even alive?" Shepard asked urgently, turning his head to EDI, feeling the sharp weight grow in his mind as his thoughts turned dark. Despite that, he didn't miss a step.

EDI's eyes went out of focus and she was silent for a horribly long time.

_2.34 seconds._

Then she answered calmly:

"They survived Harbinger's assault and my last reading from their suits indicated that they were alive when I was transported into the Old Machine Collective."

The weight that had settled on Shepard lightened and the relief was almost enough to make it more amusing than distressing that he had no breath to let out in a grateful sigh. It was tempered, however by the pessimistic suspicion that EDI wasn't telling him everything.

"To answer your original question, we are within 200 kilometers of the Alliance installation. It was, difficult, to aim in the state we were in and we were travelling at several times the speed of light at the time," EDI said.

Agony, terror and anger leapt out into his mind as Shepard realized when the ship they'd arrived in must have been sent towards Mars. His arm tightened involuntarily around EDI in the moment where his mind went elsewhere, but he only halted for a moment.

He consciously took a few deep breaths and absently noted that EDI was not as unstable as she had seemed back when he woke.

"You're amazing," he breathed, "but we have some way to go yet."

"Perhaps not," EDI answered. "It is possible they are searching for us and-"

She abruptly went silent and when Shepard turned his gaze to her again, her features had frozen and her eyes gone unfocused again.

"EDI, what's wrong," he shouted, making sure his trembling but strong grip on her was secure in case she collapsed. Worry rushed through him and he shook her a little, hoping to snap her out of it.

Her eyes focused on Shepard as deep rumbles of thrusters began penetrating the screaming winds. The corners of her mouth turned upward the smallest bit and she straightened slightly.

He was about to ask her what was happening when he felt something brush against his mind. Like an ache that has been there for so long that you only notice its absence, he suddenly felt how the sense of loneliness and incompleteness he'd had since he awoke began to lessen, as familiar presences soothed his pained head. He thought he heard a faint buzzing and clicking, like whispers in a half-forgotten language, but it did not come from his surroundings.

Despite the calming presences in his mind, instincts ingrained deeper than just into his bones made Shepard tense up as the unmistakable sound of ship engines got louder, nearing from several directions.

_300 K, trace of metallic hydrogen detected._

The mechanical announcement in the back of his head disturbed him slightly, but he recognized what the information meant. Several ships with Helios Thruster Modules were landing around them.

"Nobody here should be hostile," EDI said. She was perfectly audible even though the rumble of engines should have drowned out even a krogan battle cry and Shepard absently realized that her words were being transmitted directly into his ear.

He didn't relax. Even if EDI was right, all his military experience and instincts were screaming that this was a horrible situation. He was unarmed, unarmored and couldn't see anything.

The electric murmurs in his mind became somehow more tangible, without becoming louder or filling more in his awareness and despite the presences feeling somewhat wary and inquisitive, the familiarity of them made him welcome them.

As the rumbling of engines began to die down, shadows, topped with white light, came out of the murk around EDI and Shepard. His eyes snapped to the humanoid forms and some of the tension eased out of him as he recognized the grey and black geth troopers coming into view. The noticeable lack of weapons in their three-fingered hands, while odd, calmed him further.

The twelve geth moved to stand in a half-circle, facing Shepard and each fixed a single glowing optic on him and bowed their flashlight-heads in a strangely human gesture of greeting.

"We are pleased to see the installation was a success and that you are free of contamination or damage. We are here to help and take you to your transportation."

The words appeared directly in Shepard's ears and the way he seemed to hear clicking overlaid on the words made him wonder what language they were actually speaking to him in, English or their own, electronic one.

"Thank you," he said, this time deciding not to try to shout over the wind. The geth at the center of the half-circle nodded at him and said, again in that odd mix of buzzes, clicks and words:

"The Normandy is waiting. We should proceed."

The geth moved to stand on either side of EDI and Shepard, and the word "honor guard" popped into his head, but it was forgotten in the sudden panic and shame that rolled through him.

No. He couldn't go back. He'd delivered EDI, that was what he had had to do. He wasn't right. He couldn't face them. He couldn't bear to see what faces would be missing or what names would have been added to the memorial wall.

Lost in his whirling thoughts, he'd barely registered that they had begun walking. EDI wasn't leaning on him anymore. Her arm, which Shepard had thrown over his shoulder, was pushing at him now, making him move forward.

"No," he muttered, his tone shaky. "I, I should go."

"No, Shepard," EDI said firmly, her voice ringing clearly in his ear. "We are both going home now. We have earned it."

Glancing around him, he saw that the geth had formed moved to surround him and EDI on all sides. With mounting dread and the distinct feeling that his heart should be pounding and that his hands should be clammy, he walked with EDI and the rest of the synthetics towards the yawning hangar doors that were materializing out of the dust storm.

* * *

"We have localized the targets and are bringing them to you," buzzed the geth's metallic voice and Tali raised an eyebrow. Had she just heard the faintest note of joy and relief in the geth's voice or was she imagining things? A few years ago she would have dismissed the notion without a thought, but since meeting Legion, she couldn't say she was so sure any more.

"Good."

Garrus almost snapped the word, but he managed to make it relatively civil.

Tali couldn't blame him for being irritated and uneasy. The smaller geth ships had landed more quickly than the less agile Normandy, and the geth had informed them that they were going out to meet the platforms they had been searching for. When Garrus had protested that the Normandy should also have eyes on the ground along with the geth, they had calmly replied that they would merely secure the platforms in order to deliver them speedily to the Normandy.

The prompt reply had done little to ease anyone's worry and annoyance. No doubt some people would be displeased that the geth were the first on the ground and Tali couldn't help but think they had a point. The geth were disconcertingly uninformative and impatient about this whole situation.

The elevator beeped and with a click and a whisper of displaced air, the doors opened. The beat of boots on metal sounded in the large room as the elevator's occupants filed out. Garrus' wheelchair rattled quietly on the steel floor as he rolled out on Tali's left. Kasumi and Liara walked in on Tali's right, while on the other side of Garrus, Miranda and Jack exited the elevator, only sparing each other a single, disdainful glance. The two human biotics had rushed on board the Normandy along with everyone else and their presence had seemed completely natural.

The same went for the two krogan who stood in the middle of the hangar, squarely facing the opening hangar doors and the dark curtain of sand rolling just outside. Wrex and Grunt had entered the Normandy with nothing more than a look and a nod. It had seemed right to take almost the entire crew on the Normandy when the Reapers reappeared, even more so considering that the engagement turned out to be the most decisive one in the war.

Standing leaned against the control panels lining the inner part of the room were Jacob, James, Steve and Kaidan, talking in low voices. The four nodded at the new arrivals and joined the group as they moved past the panels on to the wide, open hangar floor.

They all came to a stop and wordlessly greeted the two krogan, forming a line that all faced the gloom outside.

Out the corner of her eye, Tali saw Javik approaching, stopping before coming close enough to actually look like he was part of the group, standing just a few meters to Liara's right. Tali smiled a very small, soft smile. The prothean might not want to admit it, but it was obvious that he had become quite comfortable with the Normandy crew, especially with Liara, Garrus and James, and his standoffish and condescending demeanor had become somewhat affectionate in his time on the Normandy.

Javik was on his guard now though. He did not trust synthetics, especially when they were being cagey.

Grunt huffed out a breath and grumbled:

"With this turnout, there won't be many geth for each."

"Sorry to disappoint you, Grunt, but this isn't going to turn violent," Garrus drawled. His voice was calm, but Tali was sure Grunt had picked up the signs of anxiety in the group. The krogan had always been more perceptive to moods than he looked, even if he usually didn't care.

Grunt's small blue eyes found Garrus', but he just snorted and didn't say anything.

Tali didn't want to admit it, but the krogan had a point. No one in the hangar was unarmed. Most of the squad had small arms attached to their hips and Wrex and Grunt both had a cannon of a shotgun attached to the magnetic harnesses on their backs. She knew Garrus had a pistol tucked discreetly into his chair and the de facto captain of the Normandy only lightly rested his clawed hands on the armrests, as ready to grab a weapon as the rest of them.

Tali's right hand curled into a fist. After everything the geth had done for them, especially Legion, being this on guard felt like a betrayal, but she also couldn't deny the logic in caution.

Silhouettes emerged from the dimness outside the hangar. The forcefield keeping the environment in the hangar separate from Mars' atmosphere darkened and distorted the view beyond it, turning the figures coming up the ramp in a close group into mass of various grays and hazy white lights.

When the group of geth passed through the forcefield, Tali let out a quiet, relieved sigh as some of the tension in the air vanished. The geth were all unarmed. It looked strange on geth troopers, but Tali wasn't going to complain.

"We greet the Normandy Collective warmly."

The words were said as the geth split the tight formation, filing out on either side of the two platforms in the middle, mirroring the Normandy crew's formation.

"So, are we finally going to see what all the-" Garrus began, his voice filled with exasperation, but he trailed off and Tali could practically hear his jaw drop, along with several sharp breaths, when the geth stepped away and gave full view of the two people in the middle. Someone cursed imaginatively to her left.

Tali herself let out a strangled gasp just as a single word came out of the speaker inside her helmet:

"EDI!"

The ruffle of someone getting up from a leather chair followed and then almost total silence filled the room which suddenly seemed to have an acute lack of air. Not that anyone breathed except for one of the two ghosts standing ten meters in front of them.

One had the familiar body of a buxom human woman, with shoulder-length, helmet-like hair and keen eyes that seemed to take in the entire hangar at once. Her grey-toned body was dotted with ugly, black, round indentations the width of Tali's thumb. A hint of a content smile curled the gynoid's lips and her posture was relaxed.

"Good day, everyone," she said, as much a greeting as a statement. The touch of warmth in her words was a lot to hear in that voice.

The masculine form just letting go of the grey woman had more or less the same coloration and the same ugly black marks, but it seemed that more care had been taken in the creation of the man. Powerful muscle was visible everywhere on the broad-shouldered form and numerous scars dotted the grey skin, unlike the complete smoothness of the woman. It took an instant before Tali realized that the small shakes and the shallow, labored breaths also made him seem more alive than the statue-like posture of the woman.

The added detail was also obvious from the fact that while the woman looked like she was wearing a one-piece swimsuit, the man was wearing absolutely nothing, showing exactly how anatomically correct he was.

The man curled his left arm in around his chest as if he felt cold and raised his head, which he'd held low since he entered. As his gaze rose to take in the hangar and its occupants, what strength he'd had seemed to slip from him and he only stayed on his feet because the woman caught him before he could collapse.

Tali's chest tightened and her vision blurred as she looked at the face she'd never thought she'd see again. The strong jaw and full cheeks, unshaven for the first time that Tali could remember, sported a fewer scars and the buzz cut was even, without the ragged edges where fire had scarred the hairline, but it was unmistakably Shepard's face.

Thinking the name and seeing the face felt like a stab in the chest which was only worsened by the eyes that looked out at her. Though not quite as empty and hopeless, they reminded her of the eyes of a former slave Shepard had once talked down from suicide and of the gaze of an asari she'd seen once at the Huerta Memorial Hospital. The achingly familiar eyes flitted rapidly from side to side, sweeping over the assembled members of the Normandy with a mix of shock, dismay and fear.

The sight became more bearable when joy and relief bloomed in those half-crazed eyes and a shaky smile stretched out the man's lips.

He half-laughed, half-choked the words:

"You're all alive. I can't believe it."

He seemed to regain a little strength as his chuckles trailed off and he visibly forced himself upright. In the stillness of the hangar, the words he muttered were easily audible:

"I'm fine EDI, go deliver the data."

"The blueprints have already been delivered to the Galactic Alliance. It was part of the negotiations to acquire the Normandy's presence, Shepard," one of the geth said. It was mildly odd to hear the geth not tacking on the title "Commander" to the name.

The words broke the shock and as Tali murmured the name so quietly that it didn't even exit her helmet, several things happened at once.

The man the geth called Shepard snapped a shocked: "What?"

"What is this?" Garrus asked, saying the first word almost in unison with the synthetic man. The turian's voice was firm and simmering with emotion that he wouldn't quite let out. His eyes were hard and his grip on his armrests crushing.

Several others let out similar words of hurried question, but Tali didn't register them, distracted by the heavy click coming from her right and the sight of the geth stepping in front of the grey-skinned man whose presence still made it almost impossible to think. Tali turned her head and saw Javik aiming a Paladin right at the gathered synthetics. His voice was filled with a bitter, sullen anger:

"This is an insult. Leave this ship!"

"Javik!" Liara cried, taking a step towards him as Garrus snapped, his voice urgent, angry and full of authority:

"Stand down!"

The prothean did not react to the words, and kept his four eyes fixed on the grey ghost of the man they had buried just earlier that day. Keelah, it felt like a lifetime ago.

The deep crash of the ramp closing behind the synthetics rolled through the hangar as EDI calmly stated:

"That does not seem to be an option."

"I will not allow this mockery," Javik said dourly, stepping forward, out of the reach of Liara who had been approaching him. The geth tightened their ring around the two humanoid platforms and said in perfect, eerie synchrony:

"We do not want violence, but we will not allow you to harm Shepard or EDI. They deserve to return to their collective."

"Four-eyes, relax," James shouted, taking a step forward, only to stop when Wrex and Grunt passed him with heavy stomps. As they reached Javik, Wrex growled:

"Don't do anything stupid, prothean."

Javik turned his four eyes on Wrex, without lowering his gun and said, his voice as hard as his expression:

"I have tolerated the synthetics, but I will not stand for this."

"You will, until we know what's going on," Wrex said, his tone as unyielding as stone.

As the krogan leader spoke, Grunt passed by them and shoved the geth away as if they weighed nothing. Though mostly blocked Tali's view of the synthetic man, it wasn't hard to figure out that the massive krogan was leaning in until he stood nose to nose with him.

"You're grey. You're swaying," Grunt said, his voice full of contempt. Only the two geth still observing Javik were not focused on Grunt's massive form. The krogan sniffed the air audibly.

"You smell wrong. Your eyes are wrong. You are weak. My battlemaster died as he should, destroying his enemies."

He snorted and his voice filled with menace when he continued: "You are not worthy of wearing that face and I will crush you to scrap and throw you into the void. And then I will do the same to the rest of these tin cans, for making this disgusting joke."

A loud crack echoed around the room and Grunt jerked backwards, raising a hand to his head. The two steps he took backward cleared Tali's line of sight and her heart beat painfully in her chest as she saw the grey-skinned man standing tall and strong, eyes burning with familiar, protective anger.

"Don't," the he said harshly, all the shaking in his voice gone, replaced with steel, "threaten my crew."

Grunt shook his head once before stomping forward and Tali finally wrested back control of her limbs. She started forward to somehow stop the krogan from attacking, but then two deep, throaty laughs filled the hangar, almost drowning out the ping of the elevator and the whoosh of its doors opening. The tension in Grunt's stance vanished and he grabbed the hand of the stunned synthetic man, giving it a hearty shake.

"Battlemaster," Grunt rumbled approvingly.

"Out of the way, whelp," Wrex barked, shoving Grunt aside and to Tali's shock wrapping the man in a bonecrushing hug, lifting him from the hangar floor. The geth somehow conveyed concern as their glowing optics observed the scene but Wrex' victim didn't show signs of pain.

As Wrex lowered his burden to the floor, he added, a grin in his gravelly voice:

"I should have known, nothing stops you. Not even getting killed, you showed us that once before."

As Tali took a hesitant step forward, she heard uneven steps clang on the floor and Edi stepped past her, the gynoid's gaze fixed at a point behind Tali. Garrus' chair rattled up alongside her and the turian breathed, his voice uncertain:

"Shepard?"

"Is it really you?" Tali asked, her voice quivering. She and Garrus approached slowly.

The confidence and strength bled from the man's stance and he seemed to shrink, curling in on himself. His gaze flickered around the room, and she briefly caught it, seeing fear, shame and doubt before the eyes turned to the his upraised grey hand.

"I don't know," he said softly. "I could just be an-"

"You are as much the real Shepard as I'm the real EDI," EDI interrupted, her words holding a very faint edge of exasperation in them.

Tali glanced behind her, seeing the AI step in front of the gap between the male and female humans, just as Joker hobbled through it. He stumbled as he saw EDI, but she caught him easily and as she raised him to his full height, she said fondly:

"I do enjoy the sight of you on your knees, but I would prefer your kneecaps to remain intact."

She kissed him firmly on the mouth and then leaned her head on his shoulder and the pilot wrapped his arms around the android, holding her tightly.

"I knew you couldn't stay away from the beard," he joked weakly.

Tali returned her gaze to the other ghost and caught his eyes. They were haunted, more so than she had ever seen them, filled with pain and regret, doubt and fear. But underneath it she saw a hopeless longing, and a glimpse of love and the intense happiness she'd seen so many times, whenever they had made it through another impossible situation.

She nearly jumped the last few steps and flung her arms around Shepard, crushing him to her, as liquid trailed down her cheeks and her lips stretched into an unseen smile. She vaguely registered that he felt ice-cold and that her suit confirmed him to be around 250 Kelvin, but she didn't care.

"Keelah, John, I thought I'd lost you again," she said thickly.

He froze for an instant before he wrapped his arms around her, delicately, as if he worried she would break or evaporate like mist if he squeezed. She could feel him trembling as he said:

"I, "he said, hesitating, "thought so too. I'm sorry."

His voice lowered into a murmur of apologies, but he stopped when she lifted her hands to the back of his head and took half a step back, leaning the front of her visor against his forehead so she could attempt a glare through the damned mask.

"You big grey bosh'tet, what are you apologizing for, winning the war? Coming back to us after only two months this time?"

Shepard's dry eyes lost focus for a moment and he shuddered violently. The weight he suddenly put on her forced her to brace herself to avoid falling backwards with him, but he steadied himself after only a moment and took a deep breath.

"Was it only that long?" he whispered.

The shaken timbre in his voice made her chest ache and she rubbed gently at his neck as her gaze softened. He seemed to sense her worry because he dragged her into another gentle hug and, chuckling weakly as he mused:

"Happy thoughts do help."

"What's wrong?" she asked quietly. He shook his head minutely.

"Not now," he said, and the plea in his voice convinced her to let the issue lie, at least for now. She could give him some time.

For a few moments she just basked in the embrace, as Shepard brushed his hands up and down her back and she pressed herself to him, reveling in the sensation. She was oddly glad for the coldness of his skin and the disturbing feeling of a socket-like indentation at the base of his skull. The imperfections diminished her fear of this just being another cruel dream that she was going to wake up from, alone.

Shepard sighed, before putting his hands on her shoulders. She looked at him in confusion when he pushed her back, out of the embrace. His face was weary and she guessed it would have been pale if he hadn't been in this new body. He visibly forced his eyes away from hers, looking over her shoulder as his anxious voice rolled through the hangar:

"Javik. I understand what you're thinking. I'm thinking the same myself."

He looked back to Tali and his expression was bleak.

"I can't describe how happy I am to see you all alive. But there are things you need to know, about what happened to EDI and me. And the geth. It might change things."

His voice regained the well-known certainty:

"But whatever the truth, I will not allow you to touch the synthetics."

Shepard's face showed that dangerous determination it always did when he prepared to defend someone, but from this close she could easily see the worry in his eyes.

"Shepard," Garrus said, from right beside Tali, "haven't we already had this discussion?"

The turian's tone was chiding, but his voice wasn't quite steady and his eyes were shining with amazement.

Shepard's brow creased as he watched Garrus and Tali tugged him back into a hug, saying right into his ear: "You are our John Shepard, not a copy. Nothing can change that."

Tali could clearly feel it when Wrex slapped his massive hand down on Shepard's back.

"Of course he is. Nobody else headbutts krogan," he chuckled. Grunt snorted beside Tali.

"Damn straight, you can't fake Loco," James barked, his voice coming from some distance away.

Tali stepped out of the hug, turning to lean against Shepard's chest and he curled an arm tentatively around her stomach. The people in the hangar had closed in around them. Grunt and Wrex stood on each side of Shepard and Tali like two gigantic bodyguards. Wrex in particular half-way obscured Shepard from Javik's sight.

It didn't seem necessary anymore. Javik had put away his gun, but he still gazed toward Shepard with grim distrust. The rest of the group gathered around them looked amazed, though there was a hint of wariness in their eyes.

It wasn't hard to guess why they were uneasy. Tali still couldn't completely banish the worry herself. What if this was a trick, or didn't last or anything else went wrong?

"I doubted you once," Kaidan said softly. "I'll never make that mistake again. Welcome back."

Liara stepped forward and rested the fingers of her gloved left hand lightly on Shepard's chest. Her wide eyes were glistening in the light and her smile was small and cautious. A small flicker of heat flashed in Tali's chest at the affectionate gesture but she smothered it almost immediately, moving her gaze to Shepard's face. His eyes were tracking the tracks of scars on Liara's face and his eyes lingered sadly on the asari's prosthetic arm.

"I," Liara began, hesitating before continuing tenderly, "it's good to see you."

She glanced to the side, where EDI and Joker stood, the synthetic woman pressed into the pilot's side and added:

"Both of you, of course."

Liara stepped back and Tali saw Javik eye her, his face a grim mask. He didn't glance back at Shepard apparently deciding on ignoring him instead of threatening him.

"As far as I'm concerned, you're still my favourite AI and commander. No offense Garrus," Steve said, smiling warmly at Shepard.

"I get no respect," Garrus said placidly.

"Wherever you need to go, if it's with the shuttle, I'm your man," Steve finished.

"Shit, Shepard, relax. You got Cerberus for me," Jack said. She showed her teeth in an almost threatening smirk as she added: "It'll take more than the grey sexbot look and a few uncomfortable truths for you to ruin that."

"Welcome back, Shepard, EDI" Miranda said. She was smiling, but her eyes were thoughtful.

"Really glad you're back," Kasumi said enthusiastically. As she spoke, her eyes trailed deliberately over Shepard and her mouth curled in a wide, mischievous smile. She caught Tali's gaze and winked at her.

Tali couldn't stop the smile or the heat that bloomed in her cheeks.

"I know I said I was ready for anything Shepard," Jacob said, his teeth showing in a wide smile. "I wasn't. But damn if it isn't good to have you two back."

"It's good to have you back Commander," Joker said. He squeezed EDI a little as he continued: "And thanks for taking care of my girl."

Silence fell over the hangar for a moment before Joker smirked.

"I never get tired of that expression," he said lightly.

Tali turned her head to see Shepard's face twisted into an expression of awe. She was half-expecting tears, but his eyes were still dry. His body was trembling almost imperceptibly though, something she only knew because she was leaned against him, and his voice was shaky with emotion when he spoke:

"I, I don't know what to say."

"An explanation would suffice," Javik said bluntly.

"Clothes first," James said, maneuvering into the group and tossing a bundle of black and white to them. Shepard's hand shot out and caught it before it landed on Tali's head.

There was a second of startled silence and then Shepard grumbled something into the top of her head that sounded suspiciously like: "Damn it EDI. I always forget something, don't I?"

There was no anger in the words though, only a hint of resignation and a nervous, shaky happiness, the latter of which Tali could feel bubbling in her chest as well as she felt it against her back.

"Alright, we'll move to the conference room, preferably all properly dressed for a formal meeting," Garrus said, his voice almost neutral. The group began to move, turning their backs to Shepard as he let go of Tali and began to get dressed.

* * *

_Well, how was this? Any and all comments are welcomed with great enthusiasm. I might be tempting fate with that one, but never mind._

_Two chapters left, unless everything bloats out of control again, and I've already gotten started on the next one. I hope I'll be able to keep improving my update time, but no promises. Till next time.  
_


	13. Explanations

_Still don't own. Unfortunately._

* * *

Explanations

"So, EDI, is Shepard's new bod accurate to the original?" Jack asked.

"It is accurate to the most recent scans," the android answered bluntly.

"Man, I did not need to know what the Commander was packing," Joker muttered in the tone of someone wishing fervently for selective amnesia. EDI rubbed his shoulder.

"Damn, I shouldn't have taken no for an answer," Jack chuckled.

Despite sharing Joker's sentiment, Garrus smirked as he saw Shepard's shoulders, now covered by a black shirt, sag a little at the irreverent comments.

He was grateful that the squad had recovered enough from their shock to tease Shepard. During the last half an hour, where they had been telling Shepard what had happened in his absence, his face had been filled with guilt and shame and the occasional flash of anger. At least now, with Tali speaking quietly to him, adamantly refusing to let go of his grey hands while the rest of the squad jabbed at him verbally, Shepard did not look quite so broken. Distracted from the events that had taken place during the last few months and the datapad lying forgotten in front of him, Shepard looked almost like he used to, if Garrus didn't look too closely and ignored the grey skin.

But he couldn't quite ignore years of C-sec training and his time on Omega, where attention to the smallest hint of expression could be a matter of life and death. To his experienced eyes, Shepard was a changed man.

The certainty, a sort of defiant confidence that the man had always possessed, was gone, and it was hard to believe that Garrus had seen it in full force just a short while ago in the hangar. Shepard's eyes easily lapsed into nervously scanning the room, like an animal looking for escape routes, or they went blank and distant, like the far-away stare Garrus had seen far too many times during the Reaper War.

He still had the smooth movements of a predator, that had been unmistakable even on the short walk to the conference room, but a tension, more like a readiness for flight than for fight, had crept into the man's steps, and there was a constant, minute tremble in his limbs.

Despite the changes, there was only a small shred of doubt in Garrus' mind that this was the real Shepard, a doubt he chose to violently throttle every time it reared its head. Wrex, Tali and James were right: You couldn't fake Shepard.

He only wished that the big shots would hurry up so they could get this over with. Then, when Shepard had told them of whatever insanity he'd made it through, maybe he could get into his brand new, thick skull that no matter what he told them, they would still have his back. That they were still family.

Garrus glanced around the crowded room while he waited. He was sitting at one end of the table with Shepard and Tali. EDI and Joker had seated themselves at the other end of the table, while the rest of the squad had placed themselves either at the table or spread out around the room.

Closest to the hallway and opposite to where Liara and Wrex sat, six empty seats were ready for when the brass showed up.

Garrus' gaze moved to the geth standing outside the glass around the conference room. Four of them had remained onboard and now they stood sentinel outside the conference room, still as statues, their glowing flashlight heads turned to observe Shepard. When Garrus had asked why the four had insisted on staying, they had replied that they were staying as support. They wouldn't elaborate what they exactly meant by that, but he got the impression that they weren't there to back up Shepard in case of violence.

"Welcome Sirs, Ma'am."

Campbell and Westmoreland, the two privates at the scanner that blocked the way into this part of the Normandy, sounded respectful and completely unfazed by greeting what was probably the most powerful group in the galaxy.

Then again, Garrus thought, they might just have gotten used to all the important people during the war. Or maybe they were just still slightly stunned from seeing the procession of aliens, heroes and the apparent reincarnation of their previous commander. Their faces had been priceless, though Garrus assumed his had looked similar when he saw Shepard.

Shepard jerked up from his chair, snapping a hand up in a salute, seemingly on pure, ingrained reflex, when the five, not six, newcomers entered the room. The sudden movement made three colored visors, an aged and scarred face and a predatory visage with facial markings snap to the grey-skinned soldier.

A hush fell over the room as the admirals and the primarch stopped in the entrance. The abrupt halt, the minute slack of Primarch Victus' mandibles and Admiral Hackett's slight frown were the only overt indicators of their shock.

They recovered remarkably well. Hackett nodded at Shepard and said:

"At ease soldier. Please, sit."

Shepard did and the newcomers followed suit. Shala'Raan seated herself beside Tali, her posture suggesting concern and confusion as she put a gloved, lavender hand on the younger quarian's shoulder. Han'Gerrel, tense but controlled, sat down next to Raan, flanked by Zaal'Koris. Hackett placed himself opposite Wrex, nodding at the krogan leader and getting a nod in return.

Victus was the last to sit, taking the seat next to Hackett, leaving an empty chair between himself and Joker and EDI at the opposite end of the table. A quick round of greetings were exchanged before Victus folded his arms on the table and smiled wryly at Garrus:

"Well, Spectre Vakarian, I can see why this was so important, but why were you so insistent on this as the meeting place?"

Before Garrus could respond, EDI answered, drawing the gaze of the quarians:

"The Normandy is acknowledged as neutral ground, impossible to detect at the moment and completely impossible to spy on now that I have reintegrated into the systems."

Garrus caught Gerrel and even Shala'Raan tense up slightly. He hadn't really expected anything else, but he took it as a promising sign that Gerrel visibly forced himself to relax.

"I see-" Victus began. He opened his mouth again but he was interrupted by Tali:

"Where's Xen?"

The words had barely left her mouth before she let out a pained yelp and a wooden crack sounded, followed by a metallic groan. Garrus eyes flew to Shepard.

It tore at something in his chest when he saw that the man was having another one of the fits he'd already had twice since he stepped onto the ship. Shepard's left hand was gripping the table so hard that the wood had splintered and the metal warped. His right hand fell to the table and put a similar pressure on the surface, drawing a protesting creak from the wood. Garrus leaned forward and saw that Shepard was clenching his teeth and his eyes were seeing something far, far away.

For a second, Tali held her left hand gingerly with her right, but then she reached out and covered Shepard's clenched right hand with both of hers.

As suddenly as it had begun, the episode ended, leaving an expression of shock and guilt on Shepard's face. Hackett and Victus were studying the man warily while the quarians all had their heads cocked slightly.

"I, we-" Shepard began. He was interrupted by a metallic voice:

"The admiral was recovered and given over to the quarian fleet for treatment. Her condition was critical, but we have not been informed of her status as of now."

Despite his concern for Shepard, Garrus had to fight back a smirk as Gerrel almost jumped in his seat. One of the geth had quietly walked into the room and now stood behind the empty chair intended for Xen. Any trace of amusement in Garrus mind vanished when the geth continued:

"Regrettably, her retinue did not possess the same suit modifications and did not survive. The admiral's vessel was destroyed, leaving no survivors."

Garrus leaned forward, a furrow appearing between his eye-ridges. He hadn't heard anything about this.

Shala'Raan seemed to notice the confusion. She sighed and said:

"Xen was on Luna when the Destroyer attacked. It seems her ship was the target; the geth ships took little damage. She's currently in intensive care."

"She shouldn't have been there," Zaal'Koris said darkly. "But why the Reapers attacked her is a better question. And how they targeted her, any ship she used for illicit activities would have had stealth capabilities."

"But that's not the subject of this meeting," Hackett interjected calmly. His piercing gaze hadn't left Shepard since he'd entered the room.

"Actually," Shepard said morosely, "we can explain that."

The quarian admirals gave Shepard their full attention, their glowing eyes fixed on him with eerie intensity.

Shepard looked down on his hands for a moment, before raising his head, his eyes gliding up to meet Tali's soft gaze. Then he let his eyes wander around the room, looking at each person in turn, finally exchanging a thoughtful look with Garrus.

"C'mon Shepard, let's hear it," Garrus said. The man nodded and turned back to the admirals, clearing his throat, the sound seeming artificial and slightly off.

"Shepard, I could-" EDI began, but Shepard cut her off, his voice firm:

"No EDI. You're right, I need to deal with this."

EDI's brow furrowed the smallest bit, a disapproving expression so faint that Garrus only picked it up because he knew the AI and also had an extensive experience with reading people. She stayed silent though.

Shepard's lips quirked in a ghost of a smile, but it vanished just as quickly and his face turned serious.

"First, you need to know that my and EDI's bodies are both based on the design of the Cerberus drone she took over in the beginning of the war. There's Old Machine Tech in our bodies, more than in the original drone."

There was a rustling sound, as several people in the room shifted slightly. Garrus exchanged a short glance with Tali, his thoughts on a different part of Shepard's revelation.

Did he say Old Machine?

"EDI has more details, but the short version is that the modifications were necessary if EDI and I should be safely and wholly installed in these bodies and if we should survive while out of range of the Normandy."

Shepard paused for a heartbeat before continuing, a note of resignation in his voice:

"EDI insists that nothing in our design should cause indoctrination, but I submit to any testing you desire, after this briefing."

Garrus nodded his head minutely as it clicked in his head. That bit of information went some way to explain why Shepard seemed more distant and reserved than he used to be.

"Also," Shepard added, sounding as if he'd just thought of it, "we should dismantle the Crucible, if nothing else, then to make sure it doesn't fire again and destroys the repaired mass relays."

Victus was the first to react, speaking the exact thought Garrus had:

"Relays? How do you know this?"

For a second, Shepard looked almost sheepish and in the pause, EDI interjected:

"A number of relays have been restored to function. You should already have received the data."

Garrus' eyes were wide as he took in the acknowledging nods of the admirals and the primarch. What had happened while Shepard and the synthetics were gone?

Shepard seemed to gather himself:

"The geth and EDI have all the technical details. As for my report, I'll start from the beginning."

He took a deep breath, looked down for a second and then began, voice almost steady:

"I made it to the beacon, just barely avoiding Harbinger's attack."

Garrus eyes narrowed and his remaining mandible flared out from his cheek. He would never forget the eternal, heart-stopping moment when Harbinger had been about to blast Shepard to dust or the way Tali had cried out in anguish. Or how he'd lied to her, and himself, saying Shepard was sure to come back. Though his eyes were on Shepard, Garrus didn't miss how Tali's shoulders tightened or how she squeezed Shepard's grey hand. The man returned the squeeze.

"It didn't get me, and I woke up in a corridor filled with corpses. It was where they had taken the captives."

"We know the place," Wrex rumbled, his voice filled with distaste.

"Well," Shepard said, "Anderson and some others had made it through, so Anderson and I agreed to meet up while the rest held off the husks that were on their side. So I limped through the halls and got to some sort of control room."

Shepard's voice lowered slightly, and a mix of anger and sadness bled into it:

"Anderson was there, he was the one who got the Citadel to open. But he was hurt. And he wasn't alone. The Illusive Man was there too."

Garrus clenched his teeth. He could see where this was going and he hated it. He knew how much Anderson had meant to Shepard and it just wasn't fair that he had had to watch the man die. Or the other way around for that matter.

Understanding flickered in the eyes of Hackett and Victus and Garrus got it just as Jack exclaimed:

"What?"

Shepard brushed a finger once over Tali's hand and said, his tone growing darker with each word:

"The Illusive Man had gotten some Old Machine implants. They allowed him to control our movements, like puppets. He ranted and raved about control and the triumph of mankind, while we almost bled out right there. I think he wanted to convince us but when that failed I guess he thought he'd make his point better by making me shoot Anderson."

Garrus felt cold. He'd been helpless more than once and even once was one time too many. But having your limbs move beyond your control, that was something on a whole different level. He couldn't imagine what it must have felt like, especially to one such as Shepard, who had always been the quintessential man of action.

He felt mild relief when vicious little smirk twisted Shepard's face into something most people would probably find frightening. He followed Shepard's gaze to see Jack staring. The hard, tattooed features of the biotic were set in an expression of shock and dark hunger.

"Only, he couldn't make me. Congratulations Jack, I wiped Cerberus from the face of the galaxy."

Shepard's voice lowered into a growl:

"I spent an entire heat sink on that son of a bitch, making sure he didn't get to repeat Saren's trick."

Garrus' thoughts went back to the monstrosity Saren had been reduced to and for a moment wished that it could still make him shudder. But now it was not even in the top three in the parade of horrors he'd seen. Nobody should get used to something like that he thought bitterly.

Then it clicked, exactly what Shepard had said: Cerberus and its arrogant bastard of a leader were gone. The realization made him show his teeth in a crooked, feral grin but it faded when Shepard turned his head to Hackett. His face emptied of expression and his voice was quiet when he continued:

"Anderson died there, and then you got through."

"I know," Hackett answered sadly. "We found him, you both, some time ago. We buried you just earlier today."

Shepard only gave a very small nod at hearing about his own funeral for the second time that day.

"When the Crucible connected with the Citadel, some ancient VI encoded in the Citadel activated. It gave me a choice."

Shepard went silent, looking down at his hands. He took a few deep breaths that were very loud in the silent room. Then, in a tone Garrus had only heard from people who woke up after doing something horrible under the influence, he muttered:

"Oh God, what was I thinking?"

"What happened?"

Victus' tone was firm and questioning, but empty of condemnation.

"It gave me the choice between control and destruction," Shepard said.

A palpable wave of shock went through the room as people put two and two together. Garrus felt like he'd been punched in the gut. He'd seen Shepard through the war, getting ground down, his rage growing. He'd seen Shepard's reactions to The Illusive Man's quest for power and he'd never have expected Shepard to in any way go down that road. He'd never have expected Shepard to work for anything but the Reapers' destruction, particularly as Shepard had begun to look more and more like a man out for bloody vengeance, against both the Reapers and The Illusive Man.

As those thoughts darted through Garrus' head, Shepard continued, his tone hollow:

"I couldn't do anything else. Couldn't make myself destroy everything. The Old Machines would be destroyed, but the pulse would also destroy the mass relays and kill every synthetic and every single person with neural interfaces or cybernetic enhancements. I, I couldn't."

Shepard's head turned to Tali as he said the last two words.

The temperature in the room seemed to plummet and Garrus' mouth dropped open as he realized what Shepard could have done. It would probably have meant the death of half of the remaining galaxy and who knew how many more would die in the ensuing chaos and isolation.

His eyes went from face to face in the room. Liara's eyes were open so wide that the white showed all around her pupils. She was most likely the one in the room with the best understanding of just what the statistics would have been, had Shepard chosen to use the Crucible for pure destruction. Most of the humans looked stunned, even Jack seemed completely floored, but Hackett only revealed slight surprise. Primarch Victus looked much the same as Garrus expected he looked himself.

The quarians had lost all semblance of control of their body language and now showed sheer horrified realization. Tali was rigid as a statue, her grip on Shepard crushing.

Wrex' face could have been carved in stone, but just the lack of expression was a sure sign of shock and Grunt looked like he didn't quite know how to react.

The silence was like a physical pressure on the room.

"Foolish. The mission was to destroy the Reapers forever, not to save this cycle," Javik said coldly. The prothean was leaning against a wall, on the side of the room furthest from Shepard, his four eyes fixing the man with a dark glare, the rest of his face devoid of expression.

Before anyone else, Hackett cut in, his steady voice betraying nothing of his thoughts as he drew the conversation back on track:

"You took control of the Reapers?"

The blunt statement stopped Garrus from contemplating what-ifs and pushed his thoughts back to what Shepard had actually done. That didn't make him feel any less off balance and neither did the brief shudder that went through Shepard at Hackett's words.

"He's right," Shepard said when he gathered himself. The words were mechanical, empty. He only seemed to be halfway there, his face devoid of expression like someone in a trance. It was a stark contrast to the rest of his body, which was tense like a coiled spring, the muscles standing out starkly against his grey skin, looking like they were about to tear from strain.

"The Old Machines ripped me apart without even noticing me."

Out the corner of his eye, Garrus caught Liara shiver.

"If it hadn't been for EDI and the geth, it would have ended there. They saved me, saved us all when I couldn't."

If Shepard hadn't looked so wretched and if what he said hadn't been so strange, Garrus would have chided the man for insisting on beating himself up.

"It's hard to explain," Shepard said, his voice rapidly losing even the toneless steadiness.

"We joined and I wasn't _just _me anymore, wasn't even fully aware. But we found their weaknesses. We used their strength against them, bound them to us with their own power."

Seemingly without noticing it himself, Shepard's features contorted in pain while, oddly, grief crept into his eyes.

"We forced the Old Machines away, both the living and the dead. We needed them all for repairing the relays."

The words came haltingly, the sentences broken up by brief spells of faraway stares and more pronounced shudders, most of the fits lasting only a few heartbeats, but some of the went on for almost half a minute. Everyone in the room stayed silent as Shepard fought his way through the explanation, Tali holding his hand while Garrus gripped his shoulder in support:

"We ripped the knowledge we needed from them, sent it to you while we repaired the relays with, with materials from the Old Machines. It was a constant struggle, and we weren't winning, not in the long run, though we were arrogant at first. The first Old Machine to die for the repairs shocked us. A number of the consciousnesses managed to cut themselves off from the collective before we regained control. Those are the only ones still alive, somewhere out there."

Garrus was speechless with shock and confusion. It looked like it was taking Shepard everything he had just talking about this and Shepard had never shown such strain. He hadn't ever realized that there was something that could affect Shepard like this and he still couldn't really imagine what could. Underneath his confusion and empathy for the man's pain was a powerless anger at being unable to do more for him. He couldn't just demolish those issues and he could only be there for him, something that felt horribly inadequate.

"We repaired and found more of the information we needed, but we were slipping, faster than we realized. We still had a link to the geth platforms and the Crucible and when Xen intruded on the geth, we, I, were angry."

"We were displeased," EDI and the geth said in complete synch, the admission only made more eerie by the emotionless tone it was made in. Garrus gave them both a quick glance, frowning, before returning his gaze to Shepard, who didn't seem to notice the interruption.

"We lashed out, and when the fleets found us and attacked, we lost most of our control. It might have been a good thing," he said bleakly. "It made us realize how much we were being influenced. We set course for the suns."

At the word suns, Shepard twisted in on himself, wracked with the worst convulsions Garrus had seen yet. Shepard's face contorted in agony and something in him groaned dangerously. Tali gasped, even as she reached out and wrapped Shepard in her arms, anxiously speaking to him.

Garrus tightened his grip on Shepard's shoulder, bringing up his other hand to push against the man's back, which turned out to be a good decision a moment later when Shepard trembled so violently that he would have fallen from his chair had he not been held up by Tali and Garrus.

On Tali's side of the table, the quarians looked alarmed, Shala'Raan in particular, though her visor seemed to be turned more towards Tali than to Shepard. Hackett was halfway out of his chair, and so was Victus.

To Garrus left came the sound of people getting up from their chairs and the clatter of movement on the steel floor.

A blue hand gently touched Shepard's left temple and stayed there for a moment before it was drawn away again. A low rumble came from behind Garrus:

"Move."

Tali reluctantly withdrew before two hands bigger than Garrus' clamped Shepard's twitching arms to his sides and pressed him into his seat. As the shaking continued, Tali reached out and held a hand gingerly to Shepard's cheek, the touch apparently going unnoticed.

It went on for an agonizing minute and a half before the violent trembling faded to minor shuddering and Shepard's face cleared. He raised his head, taking Tali's hand and lowering it to the table to rest on his, before glancing around at the crew that had gathered around him during the fit. He looked confused for a second before he seemed to gather himself, muttering:

"I'm alright. Wrex, can you let go?"

The great krogan did so and lumbered back to his seat as Shepard glanced around the room, his gaze lingering on Tali. She looked weary to Garrus, but she didn't allow herself to slump down in her seat. The only thing overtly betraying how much Shepard's fit affected her was a slight tremble in the hand she covered Shepard's with.

"Shepard, maybe-" EDI began, but Shepard cut her off.

"No, the worst is over. I'll manage," he said, though the steel in the words sounded rough and forced. He continued, the words sounding like it took great effort to speak them:

"They all died, all of those by Sol and most of those spread out through the galaxy, they all burned."

Shepard's eyes turned to the geth in the room.

"The geth removed themselves from the collective then, leaving EDI and me behind with Harbinger."

Shepard didn't sound angry, just utterly exhausted and maybe slightly irritated. It was a stark contrast to the cold fury that welled up within Garrus, an emotion he could practically feel in the air as all heads turned to the geth.

Shepard went on, a very faint note of satisfaction in his voice:

"We caught Harbinger's attention. It wasn't going to escape now. I wasn't going to let it. But when the shots began to hit, EDI-"

Shepard paused for a few seconds, the first longer pause in a couple of minutes that wasn't caused by one of his seizures. Moving his gaze from the geth to Shepard, Garrus saw that the man looked thoughtful before he added:

"She convinced me to go with her. I woke up on Mars and you found me an hour later."

Shepard slumped against the backrest of his chair, his shoulders slack. He lifted his other hand limply and wrapped Tali's hand in both of his.

"The geth weren't at fault. I dragged them into it, they didn't sign up for a suicide mission. I'm glad it wasn't," he said softly, a raw edge to his voice.

The tension in the air lessened, but a fraction of it remained as a heavy silence fell on the room. The geth however seemed utterly unconcerned with the still suspicious glances that were sent its way. For what seemed like a long time, quiet breathing and the ever-present low thrum of the Normandy were the only sounds in the room.

"That is quite a story, commander," Hackett said, his deep voice abruptly breaking the quiet.

"Man, you messed with their heads and made them kill themselves? Talk about irony, good job," Joker said, a chuckle in his voice.

Garrus' mouth twitched at that. The pilot had a point.

"Now you know," Shepard said. He sighed, a very tired sound, before adding: "It was all very confusing and it was hard to know where we ended and where the Old Machines began, but EDI insists that when we withdrew, we escaped their influence."

His face darkened with doubt, his brow creasing in worried lines as he added:

"But we need to be sure that we don't pose a risk to anyone."

Garrus almost reflexively denied Shepard being a danger to any of his allies, but it was held back by the cold, analytical voice in the back of his head that reminded him of just what the Reapers were capable of. Though he was loath to admit it, the collective might of the Reapers consciousnesses was probably what could possibly influence Shepard.

Glancing around the room, Garrus could practically feel the others' reluctance to concede that Shepard could be a danger to them. Tali's grip on Shepard was vise-like and her posture was the same guarded, defiant one she showed on the battlefield. Grunt and Wrex were leaning forward slightly, looking like two rockslides waiting to happen. Their narrowed eyes were slowly going over the leaders opposite them. Liara's eyes were clouded with thought, but her face took on a dangerous look similar to some they had seen on Ilium. The humans all looked wary, but determined, except for Jack who just full-out scowled at the brass.

It was obvious that most of the room was very much against letting Shepard and EDI go anywhere.

Hackett cleared his throat and folded his hands on the table, before saying:

"This goes a long way to explain why the geth could possible provide us with those blueprints and the data on last known positions and vectors of the Reapers. But, regrettably, the circumstances make your integrity and your intel questionable."

His brow furrowed and his mouth twisted in displeasure as he added:

"And we can't just reinstate you, Shepard. This time your demise was confirmed by several parties and we can't risk the public believing that we're lying to them."

The air seemed to crackle with tension, despite Hackett's calm tone.

"The schematics for the relays fit everything we know and did not contain anything suspicious," Liara said firmly. "Our understanding of the relays have advanced more in the last month than in the past few centuries."

The calm, confident look she was giving Hackett and the other leaders made the edges of Garrus' mouth quirk upwards. She was so different from the awkward asari they had rescued from an archeological dig gone wrong, so long ago.

Victus raised a hand, palm-out, in a small gesture of concession.

"It is not an accusation. We will of course give you the benefit of the doubt. But you have to understand that we can't risk any more upheaval or, spirit's forbid, indoctrinated elements causing havoc."

A masculine voice, tinted with something metallic, spoke next, drawing Garrus eyes to Han'Gerrel's visor:

"I suggest we put the geth under supervision. They are the greatest danger, if they were compromised."

"The Old Machines that we were in contact with are destroyed. They cannot influence us," the geth in the room said neutrally. It sounded wholly unconcerned with anything, its gaze focused on Shepard.

"They didn't relocate to your systems? It seems you have no problem moving to and from the Reaper Ships," Han'Gerrel asked. To Garrus' surprise, the quarian didn't sound hostile, just genuinely concerned.

It was EDI who answered:

"The Old Machines are bound to their hardware, require massive amounts of space and they can't function without their organic components. The geth and I are able to travel to carriers within range, but the remaining Old Machines are locked in their bodies."

Her gaze wandered to Shepard before she added:

"Shepard's migration was a one-time event. He is fully integrated in that body."

"I have to say, I agree with Gerrel," Zaal'Koris said quietly. "Supervision of the geth and a ban on further use of geth technology until they have been cleared of suspicion should be enough."

"We find the terms acceptable, provided the timeframe for investigation is not indefinite."

Shala'Raan and Tali nodded, the latter's gaze on the geth in the room. Victus and Hackett also both accepted the arrangements with a nod.

"What about Shepard and EDI?" Garrus asked, his voice holding a note of warning.

The indignation Garrus was saving up to unleash on the brass abruptly left him when Shepard answered, his words resigned and matter of fact:

"Isolate me and EDI's body until we've verified that our design has no negative effect on organics and that I haven't been influenced."

Tali's reaction was immediate and mirrored Garrus' first thought:

"No."

Shepard sighed and brushed a finger over Tali's hand.

"I won't risk hurting any of you. I have to be sure."

His eyes flicked to Javik, the prothean a grim statue on the other side of the room.

"I couldn't bear it if we were a danger. If nothing else, I need to do this for my peace of mind."

He smirked half-heartedly.

"Besides, it's not like I can't call you. I still haven't heard of anyone being indoctrinated over a monitor."

"That sounds reasonable," Victus said, before he frowned.

"Why only the AI's body?"

"My consciousness resides in the AI Core. This platform is just a shell. Having it at your disposal should accelerate the investigation," EDI said.

There was a moment of silence as the Hackett, Victus and the quarians regarded EDI, the female android looking back at them with no visible expression.

"Everyone on this ship trust EDI with their lives," Joker said, his voice for once firm and serious.

Another pregnant pause passed before Hackett spoke, his tone wry:

"Well, that should settle it. As this ship is technically the responsibility of Spectre Vakarian, it isn't our place to decide what happens here. We'll set up facilities for Shepard and, EDI's, body within the next twenty hours."

His eyes shifted to Shepard.

"Till then, you are to remain on the Normandy and to refrain from interacting with anyone not part of the Normandy crew. Your existence is classified at Spectre level."

Victus cleared his throat and Hackett leaned back slightly.

"Returning to the subject of the relays and the remaining Reapers," he said meaningfully.

Victus glanced down at the glowing light construct that sprang into place on his arm as he said:

"Apien Crest, Athena, Krogan DMZ. This is quite a list, are you sure it's accurate."

"The Old Machines left behind garrison forces or harvesting forces at major populations centers. We managed to repair some of the relays at these locations before we destroyed the Old Machines we had control over," EDI said.

Hackett nodded absently, his eyes also on the display that had appeared on his arm, casting a soft light on his face that made the lines in his face even more pronounced.

"Finding the remaining Reapers will be a problem," he said, "but with these relays, reestablishing the galactic community will be considerably easier."

Zaal'Koris straightened, as if to get up and said:

"Well, that should conclude the meeting. We have other business to attend to as well. Thank you all for your time."

He stressed the word "all" a little, glancing around the quite crowded room before he stood, followed by the rest of the room. While greetings and handshakes were exchanged, Shala'Raan attempted to drag Tali away for a moment, but the younger quarian wouldn't leave Shepard's side.

Then, the meeting was suddenly over, the three quarians and Victus already on their way down the hallway.

Hackett paused in the doorway and looked over his shoulder. His piercing blue gaze rested on Shepard for a long moment before his lips quirked into a small smile.

"It's good seeing you again, Commander."

"Thank you sir," Shepard said, his exhausted voice holding notes of gratefulness and relief.

The aged human left the room without another word.

As the rest of the people in the room got up and prepared to leave, Garrus breathed a silent sigh of relief and said:

"Well, that went well, all things considered."

He put a hand on Shepard's shoulder and caught his gaze. When he spoke, his voice was full of admiration and warmth:

"You really did it Shepard. You turned it around, and without sacrificing us all. I'm proud to call you family."

"Thanks, Garrus," Shepard answered, his voice as unsteady as the smile on his face. His gaze wandered around the room and Garrus could just tell, merely by the wide-eyed amazement on Shepard's face, that the rest of the room looked at Shepard with the same admiration and acceptance that was on his own scarred face.

"This doesn't change anything," Tali said fondly from Shepard's other side. There was a chorus of agreements and nods from around the room.

"Well, except for the fact that we might have to admit that you win on kill-count forever," Garrus said, finally managing to regain his placidly pleased tone. He regretted his comment instantly when Shepard's eyes grew distant, but it lasted only for a second and he quickly turned his head when someone else spoke.

"Yeah, you just get more and more amazing Loco. Now let's celebrate, we've got some hours to have fun in," James said, fist bumping with Jacob. Those two had apparently bonded really quickly during the last few hours.

Kaidan walked to the door, eyeing the geth a little warily as he said:

"We should inform the rest of the crew."

Joker chuckled as the people in the room began to file out.

"Let's go down to the engineers. I can't wait to see Gabby and Ken's faces."

Garrus smirked as Shepard suddenly looked embarrassed, though his smile was steadily becoming less brittle. His voice held a touch of humor when he said:

"Let's be sure not to surprise them too much."

Garrus rolled out the room behind Shepard, basking in the small sense of crazy normalcy that the situation somehow held. It wasn't perfect by any stretch of the imagination, Shepard was far from alright and everything was still fragile and uncertain. But they'd made it through the worst. It was enough for now.

* * *

_AN: _

_Wow, this grew big. I'm not completely satisfied with it, it feels a little like an infodump, despite the fact that I tried to focus somewhat one reactions. Let me know how I did and if anything about previous events are still unclear, then I'll try to remedy it, either by editing this or putting it into the next and last chapter. Oooh, almost there._

_On a vaguely related note, I'd just like to mention Miracle of Sound and his amazing gamer-fan music, much of which have inspired me in some way for this story, the Mass Effect ones in particular, of course. Go check out his music, it's all on youtube or The Escapist. It's awesome.  
_


	14. The Last Night on the Citadel

_I only own my imagination and the joy of actually having finished this. Yay me._

* * *

The Last Night on the Citadel

Chatter and the low constant thrum of hundreds of feet rose up in waves from the crowds on the deck below. A dozen different beats drifted through the air from just as many loud clubs and above, cars zoomed by, the buzz and growls of their engines drifting down to the balcony where a tall man, dressed in simple, nondescript armour and wearing a grey cap, was leaning against the silver railing. The balcony, littered with trash and cracked in places, was the only place in sight that wasn't packed with people, most likely because of its state of disrepair and the fact that the single club on the platform was closed and dark.

At this hour, when late night was about to give way to early morning, the Citadel's ambient illumination was sparse and the ward seemed to consist mostly of blues and greys, except for on decks like the one below where bars, clubs and billboards were islands of garish light, revealing the rich colours of the crowds and glittering in tired eyes, glossy goggles and shiny faceplates.

It had always been said that the Citadel never slept and tonight, with half the soldiers and ship crews in the galaxy on their last hours of shore leave, it was truer than ever. Tomorrow those same people would set out, in ships modified with ancient, rediscovered technology, on long journeys to the many clusters where the mass relays had not been rebuilt by the enslaved Old Machines. It had taken over a year of intense scrutiny and testing by the finest minds, but the blueprints Shepard and the other synthetics had brought back had finally been deemed safe and implementation of the new technology had been swift, driven by the grim knowledge that every day spent was a day the isolated worlds were suffering.

From what Shepard had heard, the new tech somehow allowed drive charge to be dissipated even in deep space, allowing for unprecedented freedom and range of flight. He didn't really have any great need to get a deeper understanding, but Tali simply glowed when she talked about it, so he kept asking.

Shepard smiled briefly as he turned his attention away from the vivid memory of Tali gushing about "simple, brilliant, revolutionary designs" and back to the mass of bodies eagerly making the most of the last hour of the night, letting his eyes drift lazily over the crowd. He spotted a krogan and a scintillating hanar giving each other what he hesitated to call a high five, considering none of them had five fingers. Further away, a group of drunken turians punched and wrestled before they pushed one of their number out towards several asari standing in front of them. A gaggle of Alliance pilots mingled with salarian technicians, both groups barely able to stand. As Shepard's eyes reached the area directly under the platform, he spotted a quarian locked in a tight embrace with a turian.

Those two seemed vaguely familiar, though he was pretty sure he hadn't seen them on the Citadel.

The smiles, the laughter, the drunken leers and catcalls, were exactly the reason he went on these long nighttime walks on the Citadel. He'd read the reports. The Citadel had been packed when the Old Machines took it over and the body count had been staggering, particularly when taking the time frame into account. That the space station had recovered to such an extent, overcoming the loss and terror, warmed and steadied him, and reminded him how strong the galaxy was.

He knew the dancing was still with desperate arm-waving and that the peace was kept quite forcefully by militia and C-sec, now heavily reinforced with many of the most reasonable krogan, but seeing happiness and peace return to the centre of galactic civilization made it really hit him: They had survived. They had passed the lowest point and were on the long way up. That realization made it easier to bear his memories.

He blinked as flames and terror invaded his vision, but only a second passed before he managed to pull himself back to the present. His grip on the railing was crushing as he inhaled deeply, grounding his thoughts in the feeling of cold metal pressing into his palms and the faint smells of food and alcohol, sweat and perfumes wafting up from below. After a moment he lifted his hands, inspecting the steel bar and finding no indentations.

He'd finally gotten the fits under reasonable control and though they still felt like they lasted forever, they seemed like just a split-second of hesitation to everyone else and he'd completely stopped damaging things he held during the seizures.

Steve and James were delighted that he'd stopped ruining weapons and armour with his amplified strength. Shepard was just glad he was no longer a liability and in no danger of involuntarily hurting anyone anymore. He still felt terrible that he'd broken one of Tali's fingers during the first briefing, over a year and a half ago.

He shook his head and pushed himself up from the railing, turning to walk down the curved ramp to the lower level.

As soon as his gaze turned away from the throng of people and lights, his eyes began darting to half-seen flickers and shadows around him, but as he ambled into the press of bodies, the noise and colours of the promenade once again claimed his full attention. The heat and heavy smells of the crowd closed around him, one asari's cloying perfume in particular stinging his eyes while a small bead of sweat quickly appeared on his brow as he was bumped around by the mass of people going around their business.

He revelled in it. The mere physical presence of people around him and the freedom to go where he wished was almost intoxicating after almost a year in what was essentially a large testing cage, only interacting with people through holo-screens and machinery. There really was something about the saying 'you never know what you have till it's gone.' Years ago, he'd lost his anonymity as he rose in the ranks, finally making Spectre and then saving the Citadel. He'd only realized then what freedom you gave up when everyone knew your face. On Mars, he'd been made aware of how many sensations and bodily reactions he'd taken for granted.

Luckily, EDI and Miranda had been able to do a lot to fix what he'd missed on Mars. EDI had just dialled his sensitivity down to avoid him getting incapacitated by Mars' cold, harsh environment and she'd set it back to full strength once he'd warmed up.

It had taken more work, but they had given him fake sweat and tear glands, and coloured his skin, closing the ugly black sockets while they were at it. It was amazing how much a little colour and perspiration did to make him feel properly human again.

He grimaced as his train of thought continued and reminded him of the latest thing he'd had fixed. Asking for help getting his body to, perform, properly had been the most embarrassing thing he'd ever had to do. On the other hand, he mused, thinking back to earlier this night, it had been very much worth it.

He resurfaced from those thoughts as he reached his destination, the transit station. He glanced around at the people standing in line with him and smirked. The C-sec krogan and turians off to the right, the clearly mercenary asari to his left and the civilian humans and salarians in front of and behind him all minded their own business and none of them paid him the slightest bit of attention.

It was incredible, but true. Against all odds, Kasumi had given him back his anonymity and it seemed so simple. A change in posture, a cap to hide his face and eschewing the iconic N7 armour, and now no-one recognized Commander Shepard. Of course, he thought, as he came to the front of the line and climbed into a dark grey shuttle, he'd also died, but that hadn't stopped people from recognizing him instantly last time.

Still, despite the changes seeming simple enough, it was a relief to relax when the shuttle door closed, hiding him from the outside world as the vehicle quietly lifted from the ground and took off. The walks did him a lot of good, but it was hard constantly making himself move and stand differently than he had his entire adult life. It made him feel exposed, as some instinct told him that he was just asking to be attacked with a posture like that. Letting the façade slip made the worry and strain ease out of him, leaving him with only the constant throbbing headache of his memories, something he was very used to by now.

However, in the relative silence and simplicity of flying, the flickers and half-glimpsed shades of other cycles began to encroach on his senses again, blurry silhouettes and almost inaudible noise that somehow didn't impair his abilities in any way.

It still _felt_ distracting as hell.

By the time the ride was over and he was standing in the agonizingly slow-moving, empty elevator, he felt like he was surrounded by ghosts. He saw hazy blotches that he knew to be ships and there seemed to be foggy shapes on the buildings closest to him and on the ground far below.

He was pretty sure the Citadel wasn't actually haunted. But the space station was ancient and had been the centre of most if not all civilizations that had come before. Whatever the Old Machines did when they harvested a species, it preserved most of the civilization's knowledge and the tens of thousands of years that the Citadel was inhabited in each cycle left an impression in the now dead peoples' collective psyche. A faded shadow of that impression lingered in Shepard's mind and when he wandered the Citadel, half-seen figures and barely heard echoes of the dead civilizations manifested around him, mostly imperceptibly in the livelier parts of the Citadel, but very distinct in the lonelier places.

Here, where the nighttime noise was locked out by the elevators' transparent doors, leaving him in silence but for the quiet hum of the elevator moving upward, he felt very close to the cycles that had been extinguished and it filled him with a sense of loss that he found oddly bittersweet.

He leaned his forehead against the glass, and tried to make out the shapes, but it was like trying to focus on the flashes of light behind your eyelids, the details slipping away, leaving him wondering if he had actually seen anything or not.

Then his view was abruptly cut off by walls closing in around the elevator, and shortly after he stepped out through the opening doors and walked up the pier where the Normandy was docked.

The ship was still and silent, gripped by the huge, round magnetic clamps. Despite the extensive modifications, the ship looked like when he'd first seen it, a sleek arrow of black and silver, though now with blue Alliance markings instead of the orange Cerberus icons. Somewhat odd considering that Garrus was in charge of the ship. The thrusters were cold and dead at the moment, but it seemed eager for take-off, aimed at the dark sky.

Or maybe it was just Shepard who was eager to be off. The Normandy would also set out later that day, though not on the same kind of mission as most of the fleets. The Normandy, like several other ships, many of them commanded by Spectres, would spearhead an active search for the remaining Old Machines, keeping constant contact with the main fleets by way of quantum communication, bringing in the big guns if they found something. It was a massive undertaking finding the remaining Old Machines, even if with the data on their last known vectors, but the galaxy couldn't rest easy before the last one was dead and they _would_ find them.

The automatic doors whisked closed behind him and the person standing at the end of the pier only then turned his head, showing Shepard his profile. He cut an impressive figure, the turian in dark blue armour, standing against the dark expanse of space, where the dreadnoughts and cruisers and the thousand dots of smaller ships burned gold and silver in the light of Sol.

He stood tall, his stance not at all affected by the fact that, underneath the armour, his legs were more metal and polymer than flesh. A single, piercing eye set in a mass of scars observed as Shepard approached.

The grand impression was ruined when Garrus popped a piece of dark chocolate into his mouth and smiled lazily as he chewed.

"Morning, Boss," he drawled.

Shepard nodded in greeting as he reached the end of the pier and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the railing. He arched an eyebrow at the turian he considered his brother.

"How are you vertical after last night?" he asked.

Garrus snorted.

"Willpower and training. Omega and the war taught me well."

He lifted the half-filled box of chocolate and added:

"And this is a great hangover cure."

Shepard chuckled.

"Turian chocolate? Really?"

"What can I say, she spoils me," Garrus said smugly, taking another chocolate.

"I hope it goes both ways, it took you long enough to notice," Shepard said dryly.

The turian gave him a flat look, though his mouth was set in his usual smirk.

"You're one to talk," Garrus said, "I didn't see Chloe much, she was on the Citadel while we were running all over the galaxy, what's your excuse?"

Shepard smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head. He decided not to argue.

"Point," he said. "At least we both wised up and with her coming with us, you'll have plenty of time to make up for it."

He paused and shook his head.

"I'll just take comfort in not being as dense as Donnelly."

"A cheer for everyone finally getting their heads out of their asses," Garrus agreed, raising the box of chocolates like he was giving a toast. Then he swung it in Shepard's direction with alarming speed that betrayed that the turian wasn't quite sober yet.

"Thanks," Shepard sighed, "but you know I can't eat." That was something he missed, but installing an actual digestive system would neither be easy nor pleasant and EDI and Miranda had helped him quite enough. He had a hard enough time looking them in the eye as it was.

"True," Garrus conceded, "but it doesn't hurt to be polite."

"Now I know you need sleep, you're sounding like an actual decent sentient being," Shepard said with mock severity. "How much sleep did you get?"

"An hour, maybe two, it's a little blurry," Garrus said.

"I bet. Don't you think our fearless leader should get his rest?" Shepard asked. He was silently thankful that Garrus didn't even flinch at being referred to as the leader. It seemed the turian had finally accepted Shepard's insistent claims that he was good enough, even to lead the Normandy.

"I think you have a saying. Something about pots, kettles and the color black," Garrus said smoothly, turning his head to look at Shepard.

"So, I speak from experience," Shepard replied amiably, shrugging.

"Experience you never learned from yourself," Garrus shot back.

"It isn't like that's an option anymore," Shepard said and Garrus tilted his head in silent acknowledgement.

That was mostly true. He didn't have any need for sleep. In fact, the only thing he did need was regular maintenance and a daily dose of some fluids. What he didn't say was that EDI had offered to figure out how to implement a real sleep cycle and that he'd declined. 'Sleep when you're dead' had a very real meaning to him after the two years he'd been gone, and he wasn't sure he ever wanted to sleep again anyway. At least when he was always awake, he only had to deal with the waking nightmares. Those were horribly real visions of the previous cycles and occasionally the worst moments of the war, but the nightmares his imagination conjured up were all filled with familiar faces, either dead or corrupted.

He'd gladly stay awake forever if it meant never again having to see Tali or the others, twisted and broken with Old Machine modifications, even if he would have to relive his failures and traumas in stark clarity from time to time.

Shepard barely held the crystalline flash of a nightmare at bay, focusing on the ships in the sky, the metal under his arms and the faint sounds drifting through the air. The seconds ticked by as he looked out into the open air.

"What are you seeing?" Garrus asked quietly, after several minutes had passed.

Shepard realized his eyes had been tracking the ephemeral shadows in the air, his gaze wandering from one fading image to the next without his mind retaining details of any of them.

"Ghosts and echoes, I guess," Shepard said and realized with a start how melancholic his voice sounded. Out the corner of his eye, he saw Garrus nodding, though his gaze was thoughtful. Garrus was one of the few who knew about what he saw on the Citadel.

"I think EDI could do something about that," Garrus said, his voice carefully neutral.

"I don't really want my head messed with any more," Shepard said wryly.

"That I can get behind," Garrus agreed, "you just don't exactly look happy."

"It's confusing. And-," Shepard said, trailing off for a moment. "It's actually comforting, the certainty that there was something in the other cycles other than pain and death. And except for a better understanding of synthetics, these-"

He paused and drummed his fingers on the railing as he searched for words.

"These visions are the only good thing I brought back from the Old Ma-, Reaper Collective."

"But?" Garrus prompted and Shepard's mood darkened.

"It feels like I killed them. I've practically lived each culling."

Garrus sighed and gripped Shepard's shoulder, turning him so he could look him in the eyes. His voice was firm and insistent when he spoke:

"You also told me you lived both sides of it all. None of those deaths were your fault. They happened thousands of years ago."

Shepard averted his eyes, his gaze drifting out into the open space to his left. A click and a whisper of displaced air reached his ears, followed by light steps, but he didn't turn his head.

"I finished the job. Almost everything about them, all those people, are gone now," he said quietly. "And I don't really know what bothers me more, killing them or that I'm sad that they're gone."

Garrus' face was twisted in frustration. His mouth twitched, but he didn't speak. The turian had always seemed to be pretty much at peace with killing in the line of duty and, though he might be able to see the logic behind Shepard's distress, the monstrosity of the Old Machines had probably made it impossible for him to actually feel grief for their deaths.

Shepard supposed he wouldn't have felt any grief either, if it weren't for those inherited memories.

"That you care so much, for the living _and _the lost, is one of the reasons you are such an extraordinary person."

Liara's words were soft, and Shepard turned his head to see her and Tali approaching. Liara looked dishevelled from sleep, though her blue eyes were alert, and Tali had the distinct little slouch she always had when she'd just woken up.

"Your timing is impressive," Garrus said, slipping his hand from Shepard's shoulder. Shepard could hear the smirk in his voice.

The two women reached Shepard and Garrus, Tali stepping into the fold of Shepard's outstretched arm and leaning into him. He wrapped his arm around her and once again the thought of just how good it was just to touch someone, particularly her, darted through his head.

"Liara and Tali requested that I inform them when you returned."

EDI's voice floated out from Garrus' armor. Small speakers had been installed in all their armour for when EDI had something to say while her body was elsewhere and earphones were for some reason insufficient.

Garrus made a small sound in the back of his throat, a hum of understanding, before saying:

"Aren't you with Joker? I thought I saw you two leaving earlier."

"Yes, he is just waking up," EDI replied, calm as ever.

Shepard couldn't help the snort of amusement that erupted from him, but before anyone had a chance to speak, he said:

"I think Joker would appreciate it if you would focus your attention on him right now."

EDI didn't reply for a moment and, wondering if the AI was puzzled again, Shepard elaborated:

"It's an emotional thing. At least, not having several conversations right now would probably be best. It'll make it more obvious that he is your highest priority."

There was another few seconds of silence, then EDI's voice appeared from the speakers again, a slight hint of confusion in the words:

"I will do that. However, I want to add to the previous subject that the geth and I have preserved a considerable amount of data from the previous cycle, if that is any consolation."

Shepard inhaled and exhaled the air in a sigh.

"Thanks, EDI."

There wasn't a reply, so it seemed EDI had taken the advice to heart. For a short while, the four just stood there in silence, gazing out at the ships blazing in the sunlight.

"Liara's right. You care so much for everyone," Tali said, picking up the interrupted subject. She rubbed a his shoulder. "You always take all responsibility, even when it's out of your hands. You should remember what you have and what you have accomplished."

"You did was what had to be done. We are here now because of that," Liara said.

"I know that, you know I know that," Shepard said. There was a note of exasperation in his voice but his mood was brightening.

"Shepard," Garrus said, "you've met Javik. Do you think any of cycles would be any different? Do you think any of them would have wanted to continue to exist as Reapers after what they'd done?"

Shepard chuckled helplessly.

"You're right."

"Of course we are," the Tali said cheerfully. Her tone and the smirk on Garrus face gave seemed to indicate that anything else was unthinkable.

"I still think it's unfair of you to gang up on me," he groused, his voice full of mock indignation.

"I've found it to be the quickest way to make you deal with your issues," Tali chirped pleasantly. Liara and Garrus just kept smiling and smirking respectively.

Shepard snorted. He'd had plenty of time to deal with his issues in the year he'd been locked up. In between the poking and prodding, he'd had plenty of conversations, with the Normandy crew and a team of shrinks. Dr. Stanton and her colleagues had actually been pretty helpful, even if he'd never figured out if the main purpose of the sessions had been to confirm that he was the real Shepard, figure out if he'd been indoctrinated or if they were actually supposed to help him deal with the trauma of the war and his time in the Old Machine Consciousness. The shrinks' solemn declaration that he was the real, unsullied deal had both been a great relief and mildly underwhelming, seeing as the important people had seen that almost immediately.

Whatever help the shrinks had been, he still found it immeasurably better for his mental state to be with his friends and family. He'd been about ready to claw down walls of the seemingly more and more cramped rooms at the end of the year.

Shepard closed his eyes and dragged himself out of his thoughts. That was enough introspection for today.

"Speaking of Javis, is he coming?" he asked.

"Yes," Liara answered after only a short moment of hesitation.

"Good, the Normandy doesn't feel right if there isn't at least one person that might decide to shoot me," Shepard said, smirking.

Javik had warmed somewhat over the year and a half, but his distrust wasn't gone. That was one of the reasons Shepard had cited when arguing that Garrus retain command of the Normandy.

"Oh, sometimes it's still a toss-up for me and Tali," Garrus rasped nonchalantly.

"So we're all set?" Shepard asked.

Liara just nodded.

"The Normandy is ready, everything's checked and calibrated," Tali said, adding the last two words almost as an afterthought. Her head turned slightly towards Garrus.

"It's just a shame more of the band isn't coming," the turian said, completely ignoring the quarian. He shook his head disbelievingly before adding:

"I still can't believe Jack and Grunt have other responsibilities. I can't believe they _have_ responsibilities."

Shepard nodded in acknowledgement, joining the group in a quiet chuckle before they lapsed into companionable silence, enjoying each others' easy presence as they looked out into the black sky.

It was a strange, but fantastic and, he had to admit, very gratifying, to see how far the members of ground crew had gotten. Several Spectres, a good king in all but name, a leader made from an apparently immature, violent hothead, a teacher made from a seemingly psychotic, lost cause, reformed criminals, and the rest, who had been good people, that now were great people.

It was still a little bittersweet. Exactly because they had gotten so far, only a few were coming with the Normandy, Javik, the three standing around him now, Kasumi and of course, EDI. They still had had not contact with Samara and Zaeed. James and Kaidan were going with different ships, their status as Spectres making them much more valuable as leaders of other teams. Garrus and Shepard hadn't split up like that, technically because Shepard was Garrus' responsibility but in reality because they absolutely refused to split up the remaining ground crew any further.

Wrex had ruling to do and the rest had people to take care of in some capacity, except for Miranda, who instead was going to put all that skill to use, for the first time openly.

It would be a long time before he saw any of those people in person again and that hurt, though the pride and joy of his people finding their places soothed it somewhat. The presence of the people still with him, and the Normandy crew sleeping in the ship beside him, reduced the hurt to only small pangs.

Shepard returned his eyes to his three companions. Liara still bore her scars, though like Garrus, she'd gotten a prosthetic for her major injury. It couldn't be seen on Tali, but he knew the scars she had well, ugly rough ones on her stomach where he'd learned metal had pierced her. Warmth filled his chest. They were family, like the rest of the Normandy crew, despite the fact that not one of them shared blood with him.

He pressed a kiss to the top of Tali's cowl and as she looked up, her head tilted a little in curiosity, he gazed from her to Liara to Garrus.

"Thank you," he said, the words heartfelt.

"You're welcome," Garrus said, his tone wry, but the smiles that he and Liara gave him left no doubt that they had complete understanding of what he was feeling in that moment. Neither did the squeeze Tali gave him.

"Thank _you_," Tali answered, her voice as warm and soft as the feeling of her body leaned against Shepard.

"You did it, Shepard," Liara said softly, "you changed the course of millions of years of history."

"We did," Shepard said, the realization hitting him just as hard as it always did, "all of us."

"We are pretty amazing," Garrus said, buffing his claws on his chest plate. His smiles turned predatory before he added, tone half-serious:

"That's why the Reapers are hiding from us."

"Well, they can't hide forever. We'll run them to ground," Shepard said, a bit of vicious bite creeping into his voice. There was only a very faint stirring in the back of his head that regretted the necessity of killing the Old Machines and it had no influence on his certainty of purpose.

Liara and Tali merely nodded solemnly and as the lights on the Citadel slowly bloomed to daytime strength, the group turned their backs on the magnificent view and walked down the pier towards the Normandy's doors.

The hunt for the Old Machines and the restoration of the galaxy would likely take a lifetime, probably Liara's lifetime, but Shepard felt confidence, all his own, swell in his chest unlike any he had felt since the disastrous mission in the Bahak System. The Old Machines had lost and would never be able to rise again, the galaxy had survived and was getting better, day by day. He still felt the ache of loss and the guilt of many of his actions, but the people he cared about eased the pain and brightened the days. His duty and mission was clear once again.

As they stepped from the brightening Citadel into the softly lit airlock, Shepard smiled.

He had all he needed.

* * *

_AN: _

_Well, that was it. I'm really proud that I actually finished this and all in all, quite pleased with the end result. I'd like to thank all you readers and my reviewers in particular, so thanks: Lord of Bays, Suqu124, beastlynerd, Just An Avid Reader, general-joseph-dickson, Everettspartisan, Inverness, bob rijke, X59, Riptow, PenAndBoad, Dur'id the Druid, murdrax, Tomon and Raven Marcus._

_As always, I'd love to see your reviews and now that the story is done, I'd love to hear your overall opinion, what my strengths and weaknesses are, how the pacing was and such. I'd also like to know if there was anything I forgot to explain._

_Thanks everyone, it was a pleasure to write for you._


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